


if you stand for nothing, what'll you fall for?

by blindedbythetomlinsun



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, West Side Story (1961)
Genre: 1960s America, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gang Violence, Gen, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Musicals, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Racism, Racist Language, West Side Story, West Side Story AU, and homophobic slurs, base doff the musical, both gangs are squad af, homoerotic-subtext!dennor, i suck at titles btw, ive been planning this for so long, just not with each other, just saying, lots of racism, not the movie, street gangs, the characters are listed in order of main characters to minor ones, this is not all fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2018-04-25 16:34:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4968247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindedbythetomlinsun/pseuds/blindedbythetomlinsun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The whites and the foreigners don't mix - <i>can't</i> mix - and that's the way it's always been. Of course, Alfred and the rest of his gang are more than content to separate themselves from any type of association with those aliens, especially from that damn Spaniard Antonio and his stupid gang.<br/>Nevertheless, Alfred can sense that everything's about to become different. There's a feeling, just around the corner; it's there, but not visible yet. He's sick of waiting, but the air is humming with winds of change.<br/>Something's coming - he just knows it.</p><p>Or: the Hetalia West Side Story AU you never thought you needed until now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! So I've been planning this for a long time, aka since May lmao, and I just really loved the idea of a Hetalia WSS AU. I got the idea when I found out my school musical for this year is WSS (I'm a Shark, which I'm stoked about) and thought, "hey, wouldn't this make a really great Hetalia fic? Even better ... RUSAME??"  
> So then ... this happened.  
> There will be some lines taken from the musical and many of the scenes will be similar and / or the same, but I will try my best to also make it unique!  
> If you aren't aware of WSS or what it's about, etc etc, (educate yourself right now and watch the movie even though it's inaccurate) a quick Google search will suffice. Listening to the soundtrack might help as well, because the songs are extremely key to the plot. And if you're really hardcore, take a peek at the movie. It's not like the musical (which this fic is based off of) but it's close enough and will also suffice.
> 
> Also idk if you've noticed, but I actually suck at titles.
> 
> As well, I'll make a list of any racial slurs and foreign words in notes at the end of each chapter.
> 
> I do not own West Side Story and its characters / plot, nor do I own Hetalia and its characters.  
> 

OCTOBER, 1962

 

The streets of the concrete jungle were surprisingly quiet; the only sound to be heard was a low and haunting whistle, cutting through the silence as it carried with the wind. The whistler stood up from his crouch and jumped, tossing himself on top of a tall chain-link fence with ease. He perched at the top, letting out another low whistle before hopping down the opposite side and waiting at the bottom.

He leaned against the fence, brushing blond hair out of his eyes as his brows furrowed in a gesture of impatience.

"Boys!" he called, the sound echoing throughout the street and bouncing off the walls. His voice was sharp and commanding, his crisp British accent implying him to be a person one should not mess with.

Slowly, a mop of platinum blond hair appeared from behind a building corner before the owner of said hair scuttled towards the whistler.

"Where're the others?" the British boy asked, peering around.

"Sorry Arthur, I have no idea," the platinum blond replied, shrugging as he scratched the back of his neck. His voice had the slightest hint of a German accent, but it was subtle enough that it wasn't immediately noticeable. "Lud's on his way, I caught him during school to tell him we were meeting today."

"Good on you, Gilbert," Arthur praised, giving the German a satisfied nod. "Let's hope the others know."

As the two boys waited impatiently, a muffled shout sounded from a few streets away, causing them to spring into action.

"Sounds like one of ours," Gilbert exclaimed, jumping up.

"Damn Fobs in our territory again?" Arthur growled, already sprinting towards the sound.

"Not on our watch," Gilbert replied as he followed behind quickly.

More and more shouts greeted the two teens as they turned a street corner into an abandoned parking lot and came across two of their boys grappling with two other Fobs.

"Get back, you filthy ape," Jett snapped, shoving a black boy to the ground, his slight Australian accent making his words sound less harsh. Nevertheless, the intent behind them was just as nasty as the words themselves.

The boy, Jamar, retaliated by kicking Jett's legs from beneath him so that he fell, and the two began wrestling on the concrete. The fight was beginning to get nasty, and Arthur wanted to step in before too much damage was caused.

"Gilbert, take care of Jett. I'll handle Matthias," he ordered as he headed towards the young blond tussling with Lovino.

"Go on back where you came from, Wop," Matthias sneered, his voice sounding the most 'American' despite the boy in question being a Dane. He quickly struck a hand out to punch the Italian in the stomach, but Lovino dodged it with ease, catching Matthias' hand swiftly and twisting it behind him.

"Oh please, Gringo," Lovino sighed wearily, twisting the Dane's arm harder. "Tell me, when did your parents or grandparents arrive here from Denmark?"

"Why you little -"

"Perhaps it's _you_ who should go back," Lovino continued thoughtfully, twisting harder with every word. He reveled in finally having caught one of the stupid white boys, and he took his sweet time in making Matthias suffer.

"Not if I can help it," Arthur snarled as he came up from behind, yanking the Italian away from the young teen. "Get your hands off of him, you dirty fag. This is _our_ territory."

Lovino recoiled as if burned, his eyes flashing with hurt. He recovered quickly and soon enough, he was back to his loud, crass self.

"Don't you dare fucking call me that ever again -"

"Or _what_ , you no-good Guinea?"

"Fuck you! I swear I'll -"

" _Hey!"_

All six boys froze and turned to see Lieutenant Zwingli and Officer Adnan glaring at them from the sidewalk.

The boys tried not to let their nervousness show; displaying weakness in front of Lieutenant Zwingli was guaranteed to bring you either an early death or one huge, pointless lecture. The boys figured that Zwingli could probably smell fear as well.

"Why, good afternoon, Lieutenant Zwingli!" Arthur greeted mockingly, his accent overemphasizing his faux politeness.

"Well, what have we here?" Officer Adnan asked, leering at both groups of teens. His Turkish accent shone through brilliantly, and although it should have made him sound more comedic, in actuality it made him sound quite intimidating. Not that any of the boys would ever dream of telling him that.

"Just a couple o' handsome fellas hangin' about, Officer," Matthias said, shrugging with faux innocence.

"Yeah, and these clowns couldn't handle our pure beauty - they wanted to be the handsome ones, ya see - and so they roughed us up a li'l over it," Gilbert added, nodding fervently as he gestured to the two Fobs.

"Matthias here looks the most roughed up," Lieutenant Zwingli observed, voice cool and stoic as he glared suspiciously at the two foreigners. He was a Swiss who'd once served in the military, and the boys knew that Swiss soldiers were not to be messed with. "Who got you, Matthias?" he continued. "Which one of these filthy scum had at ya? Was it Guido over there, or the boogie?"

"Fucking call me Guido again, I dare you," Lovino spat at the same time Jamar began to lunge towards them, earning a warning glare from both policemen.

"Actually, I reckon it was a cop," the Dane disclosed gravely, face solemn.

"A cop?" Officer Adnan repeated in confusion, glancing between him and Lieutenant Zwingli as if doing so would give him answers.

"Oh, yeah. As a matter of factuality, Officer Adnan sir, we reckon it was _two_ cops!" Arthur exclaimed, voice slightly hushed and eyes wide, as if he were revealing a precious secret.

"Don't even bother, Adnan," Lieutenant Zwingli sighed, scowling. "These kids are pullin' our legs. Damn funny, kiddos, damn funny."

"Thanks sir, we try our best," Gilbert replied earnestly.

"You no-good punks aren't the kings of the damn streets, ya know," Officer Adnan grumbled.

"What're you two still doing here?" Zwingli snapped at the two Fobs standing uneasily across from them.

"Lieutenant Zwingli, is that any way to talk to two innocent, young teenagers?"

Lovino and Jamar sighed in relief as Antonio swaggered towards them, side-eyeing the two cops.

"Ah, the fag has come to rescue his boyfriend," Arthur snickered as the rest of his boys made kissy noises.

Antonio's eyes flashed with anger and he took a step towards them, but was stopped by Lovino and Jamar who held him back.

"Like being manhandled, don't you, Antonio?" Gilbert sneered. "Tell me, do you fuck your whole gang, a different member every night? Is there a schedule? One gets Mondays, the other Thursdays? Or are you and Guido here the only homos in your group?"

"What did I say about calling me 'Guido,' you no-good Kraut?" Lovino snapped at the same time Antonio said, "Funny how you call _me_ the fag when you spend every waking moment sucking Arthur's dick!"

The spark became a full-out flame as the two groups of boys yelled at each other, insult-upon-insult being thrown left and right. If it weren't for the cops, the teens would have dropped everything and brawled, all-out, then and there.

"Alright, alright, that's enough!" Zwingli shouted, his voice rising above the squabble and echoing throughout the street. "Nice of you to stop by, Antonio, I appreciate the visit. Now listen to me, and listen well: get your filthy scum outta here before I make you. Comprendes?"

" _Please,_ " Adnan added with mock-politeness.

"Qué? But I only just arrived!" Antonio exclaimed with faux offense. "Increíble. Are all officers this rude, or are you two just the exceptions?"

Zwingli glared daggers at the Spaniard, his expression making it clear that they better get out or else.

Antonio sighed, turning to Lovino and Jamar.

"Vámonos, Fobs," he commanded, sweeping away with an air of confidence as the two other teens strutted behind him.

"Dammit Arthur," Lieutenant Zwingli growled, his prominent accent making his words seem sharper and harsh, "you can't keep messin' with them Fobs! It creates more trouble for me, and I don't like makin' trouble if I can avoid it. I like those foreigners just as much as you do, but I'm not the fondest of you punks either. So how's about we make a deal?"

Arthur stepped forward, arms crossed as he narrowed his eyes at the officer.

"What kind of deal?"

Zwingli also stepped forward so he was nearly chest-to-chest with the Brit.

"You knuckleheads make nice with 'em Fobs, ya hear me? If ya don't ..." Lieutenant Zwingli took a moment to pull out his pistol, displaying it so that his intent with it was more than clear. The action was more of a shock factor, and the boys knew it, but they couldn't help it if they still quaked at the sight of a gun. "If ya don't," the Lieutenant continued, "I'll hunt the lot of you down, personally beat the living hell outta every single one o' ya, then take you punks straight to the slammer where ya belong!"

The four teens remained in stony silence, but their faces showed that they understood.

"Glad we're on the same page, boys," Zwingli said, giving them a sharp nod. "Come along, Adnan. Give these charming kids a farewell now, would ya?"

"G'bye, boys," Officer Adnan said gruffly, sending the teens a reluctant nod.

The four of them watched as the officers disappeared from sight before Jett spat on the ground unceremoniously.

"'I'll take you punks straight to the slammer where ya belong,'" he mocked, kicking the ground in anger.

"'You ain't the kings of the streets,'" Matthias added, scowling.

"'Go play some basketball,'" Gilbert exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air.

"'Concentrate on your studies so you'd actually have a future,'" Arthur finished bitterly.

"'Get outta the house', 'get off the streets', 'get outta here', 'get outta my life', 'get outta the world,'" Jett listed, shaking his head. "The list goes on and on. Why can't they understand that this is all we have? We ain't nothin' if we ain't got our gang!"

The remaining two members of their gang - save one - had begun to arrive at that point, having witnessed the scene with Zwingli from afar.

"Our gang rules the streets, and that's final," Lukas spoke up, agreeing with the Australian. Like Matthias, he too sounded convincingly 'American,' although he often spoke in a monotone. "Who's Zwingli to say we aren't the kings?"

Matthias nodded fervently, as he always did whenever the Norwegian made a point. Matthias was strong and opinionated, but he always agreed with his best friend, no matter what.

"Zwingli thinks we aren't the kings," Ludwig sighed, rolling his eyes. His subtle accent mirrored that of his brother's. "He thinks we're on the same level as those Fobs."

"Well I guess we're gonna have to prove once and for all that we're the greatest gang to grace these shabby streets!" Gilbert exclaimed, punching the air.

"A fine display of alliteration, Gil," Arthur praised, stepping forward to be in the middle of their huddle. "You and Lud are absolutely right; them cops think we and the Fobs are sittin' on the same rank. Well, we gotta do somethin' to show them we're superior."

"A rumble!" a new voice squeaked, pushing through the circle to be seen. "Arthur, you could start a rumble with 'em and finish those stupid, no-good foreigners once and for all!"

All six boys collectively groaned at the newest addition to their meeting, and Arthur grabbed the young boy by his shirt collar to drag him off.

"Peter, go _home,_ " Arthur ordered his younger brother, pointing in the direction of their place, face stern. 

"Artie, please! Can I be in the gang now? I'm practically a member, you just gotta reco'nize me as one!" Peter pleaded, his lips pushed into a pout.

The young Brit had always badgered his older brother for entrance into the gang, but at twelve years old, Arthur deemed him way too young. Besides, a gang was no place for a child, so Arthur refused him time and time again. The rest of the boys figured it was because of Arthur's care and concern for his younger sibling, but they never brought it up; Arthur and Peter shared an obvious mutual dislike for each other, but it was easy to see that they cared for one another as well - even if that care resided deep, deep down inside of them, never to see the light of day.

However, despite Arthur's aversion to Peter being in the gang, the others members were fine with it, as long as the young boy didn't participate in any street fights. They didn't need a beaten and battered kid on their hands - in some cases, with their respective families, they already _were_ that kid.

"Peter, no one's reco'nizing you as a member of the gang," Arthur sighed wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Try again when you're three years older, squirt," Jett teased, ruffling the young boy's hair. After much debate upon the joining of Matthias, the youngest member of their gang, the entry age of fifteen had eventually been unanimously decided.

"But this gang's all I've got!" Peter protested, stomping his foot angrily.

"Peter," Arthur began warningly, shooting the boy a look that bordered on anger. Their parents doted on Peter to no end seeing as he was the baby of the family with lots of potential while Arthur was just a disappointment that they'd lost all hope for; Peter had no right to go around saying that the gang was all he had when the statement applied to Arthur's life much better.

"The kid's got a point," Lukas said evenly, eyes flitting around to linger on each member.

"It's true," Gilbert agreed. "When you're a Matt, you're family."

"The Matts rule the streets!" Matthias crowed, jumping in delight.

"You're damn right we do, but Pete ain't a part of the Matts," Arthur said sternly, ending all discussion on the matter. "Now c'mon, we gotta discuss this rumble."

"You're using my idea?" Peter asked excitedly, but Arthur ignored him.

"I'll have to notify Al," the Brit continued, only to be cut off by an irritated Gilbert.

"Who needs Al? He's been off doing other stuff, he has no time for us. I don't even think he wants to be a Matt anymore!"

"Quit your frabbajabba, Gil," Arthur snapped, shooting the German a warning glare. "Of course Al still wants to be a Matt. I and Al _founded_ the Matts for cryin' out loud!"

"He doesn't belong no more," Gilbert insisted. "It's been ages since he'd last hung out with us."

"We've defeated a bunch of other street gangs with Al's help," Ludwig pitched in, laying a hand on his brother's shoulder in an attempt to placate him.

"If it weren't for Al, I'd be dead! Or at least in a wheelchair or somethin'," Matthias added, referring to their fight with the Cobras some time ago that turned real nasty real fast.

"Al's a Matt, okay? And once a Matt, always a Matt," Lukas said firmly. The Matts had taken him and Matthias in when they had nobody else but each other and nowhere to go; to Lukas, the Matts were family, and he believed with all his heart that once you were a Matt, you would always be one.

"Of course!" Arthur exclaimed. "Al's always come through for us, right? Why's he gonna stop now?"

The boys all let out a cheer, save for Gilbert, who was still skeptical about their practically-former leader.

The Matts and Peter began heading towards their usual hangout, which was less out in the open in order for them to speak freely about anything.

"So about this rumble," Jett began, "what's the scoop on weapons?"

"We're gonna have to hold a war council," Arthur replied thoughtfully before climbing the fence to get to their spot.

The others followed behind with ease, each teen dropping down gracefully after the other as if they'd done it many times before,  which they had.

"Them foreigners got a bunch o' crazy stuff goin' on. What if they choose knives, or - or guns?" Matthias asked nervously, shifting towards Lukas instinctually. The Norwegian automatically wrapped an arm around his best friend's shoulders in a well-known gesture of comfort.

"If they want knives or guns, we'll do it," Arthur decided firmly. "This territory is ours, and I ain't just talkin' about gang territory. Those damn foreigners are gonna know that us Matts are the _real_ rulers of the streets - we're gonna come out on top!"

"Cracko jacko!" Peter exclaimed, making finger guns as he pretended to shoot at imaginary Fobs.

"You know it, little brother," Arthur said happily, reaching a hand out to ruffle the boy's hair. Peter shied away from the contact, but it was plain to see he enjoyed having Arthur's attention.

"Now, how are we going to find Antonio to challenge him?" Ludwig asked.

"Easy, Lud," Jett replied. "We'll find 'em over at the spot where our borders meet."

"The ocean's a fun place and all, but I can't swim," Gilbert joked, causing the other teens to burst into laughter.

"Alright, alright! Order!" Arthur said, voice raised slightly above the din. "So we'll confront the Fobs later today. Sound good?"

"More than good!" Matthias replied, grinning. "Riga diga dum!"

"Pow, pow!" Gilbert exclaimed.

"Chung, chung," Lukas added softy, but enthusiastically.

"Now I know Al as best as I know me, and you can bet your bottom dollar that he'll be at the confrontation later, and the rumble itself!" Arthur said, voice filling with pride.

"Who cares if he's in or out?" Gilbert complained. "Let's just move on already."

"We'll meet here around seven-thirty and get to the border around eight, capisce?" Arthur continued, tactfully ignoring the German's outburst.

Noises and expressions of agreement followed the conditions, and Arthur looked over his gang with a proud smile.

"Don't forget to walk tall, gentlemen. You have every reason to."

"We _always_ walk tall, Arthur," Lukas said, rolling his eyes a little as he smiled.

"We're Matts!" Matthias finished for him, grinning widely with eyes full of delight. "We're the greatest!"

"That's what I like to hear," Arthur praised, shooting the both of them happy looks. "Now, go on, get going. We meet back here at seven-thirty sharp, alright?"

The teens nodded in agreement before dashing off in all different directions; some of them going home, some to play ball, and others to do various activities.

Arthur, though, steeled himself as he walked towards the convenience store down the street, expression pondering. He was off to perform a task, and he wasn't sure how well it would go. He hoped it would be a success, but lately things had not been working in his favor, which was why he was hoping his task would go as he planned. Everything depended on it, really - if he failed, there was no telling what would happen to the Matts.

With that thought in mind, Arthur sighed as he trudged on.

It was high time that he confronted Alfred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ape - a black person  
> wop - anyone of italian descent, derived from guappo  
> gringo - americans / non-hispanics  
> guinea - someone of italian descent. derives from "guinea negro" because of some italians who had dark complexions  
> guido - an Italian-american male; usually offensive  
> boogie - a black person  
> kraut - derogatory term for a german  
> comments and kudos are appreciated!  
> qué? - what?  
> increíble - unbelievable  
> vámonos - let's go / let's leave


	2. When You're A Matt / Fob ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is dedicated to the lovely flyingmintybunny on tumblr :)

"Aw, Mattie, a name change would do this place plenty good! C'mon, whaddaya say?"

Matthew sighed at his brother, shaking his head at the younger teen's antics.

The quaint diner that Matthew worked at was quiet, save for the two boys conversing at the counter. The lights flickered slightly, letting out a hum of electricity as both teens were illuminated by the bulbs.

Matthew was a good two years older than his brother Alfred who was seventeen, and had been working at the Bonnefoy diner - appropriately named 'Bonnefoy's Diner' - since he was old enough to work, in order to make money for university. The cozy building was the usual go-to hang out spot for the Matts, as both Alfred and Arthur had connections there. It was thanks to Matthew having a job there that Arthur met his girlfriend; the owner's daughter, Marianne Bonnefoy.

"Alfred," Matthew began in an exasperated tone, his usually quiet voice becoming louder with irritation, "for the last time, I'm not going to convince Mr. Bonnefoy to change the name of his diner!"

"Ah, c'mon, Mattie! 'The Matts' would be a fabulous name for a diner, especially since we're the ones who give this place customers. It'll be a great tribute to us," Alfred pleaded, his eyelashes fluttering from behind his glasses and his annoying hair curl bouncing slightly with the motion.

"It's such a stupid name, Al," Matthew replied, crossing his arms. "Why on Earth did you and Arthur want to name your ... group, 'the Matts' anyways?"

Alfred deflated at his older brother's unimpressed tone, his expression crestfallen.

Matthew was the star child out of the both of them - their parents loved him to bits and doted on him due to his intelligence and talent. 

"Matthew is going places," they said. "Matthew will be nothing short of successful."

Of course, this meant that Alfred received less attention and praise, and he was desperate to win their affection. However, his main priority was his brother.

Alfred admired his brother to no end; Matthew was his idol. More than anything, all Alfred wanted was for Matthew to be proud of him for something. He wanted it more than his parents' approval - to him, Matthew's approval meant so much more.

"S'short for Manhattan," Alfred mumbled, scuffing his shoes on the floor, earning a chastising glare from his brother. Alfred knew what he would have said - "Alfred, stop that. You know very well that I just mopped the floor."

"There are plenty of names that are short for Manhattan, and you choose 'Matts'?" Matthew asked skeptically.

"Aw, use your head, Mattie! I know ya ain't playin' dumb with me. Manhatts sounds weird, Mans just sounds plain wrong, Manhattans is stupid, Hattans sounds like an old folk's home, Hatts go on your head, and Manhattanites sounds like a damn religion," Alfred listed, ticking his fingers off with each explanation. He then glanced up at the taller teen shyly, saying quickly, "Also, I named it after you."

Matthew stopped short, doing a slight double-take. Alfred had been a part of his silly gang - which Matthew disapproved of greatly - for two years, and only now he was discovering that the gang was partially named after him.

"Wait, what? Al, why would you do that?"

Alfred blushed, looking down at the sparkling floor as he shrugged in an unconvincing gesture of indifference.

"I ... Us Matts, we're the strongest gang on the streets," Alfred explained, spreading an arm out to gesture to the door and the streets beyond. "I do a good job of leading 'em with Arthur, or ... I did, and lots could say they're mighty proud of us."

"Please get to the point, Alfred," Matthew sighed, waving a hand for the other teen to continue. Matthew was the more polite one of the two, but he had his limits, and he was close to the end of said limits.

"When I and Arthur decided to form a gang -"

"Arthur and I," Matthew corrected under his breath.

"- We wanted our name to have meaning," Alfred continued, ignoring his brother's grammatical correction. "Arthur wanted it to be a tribute to something important to us, and I wanted it to be a strong name so that people would be intimidated when they heard it, but also feel like they admire us and wanna be like us." Alfred took a breath, glancing briefly at his brother before returning his gaze to the floor. "So, we compromised. I thought of the name in the first place and we loved it: The Matts. It worked; Manhattan holds great meaning to us, so Arthur's wish was fulfilled. And I ... I decided to name it after the strongest, most admirable thing I could think of."

Matthew stood still for a moment or two before coming around the counter to pull his brother into a hug. For all that Alfred annoyed him, the two were the best of friends, and Matthew loved his brother with all his heart.

"Al," Matthew said, eyes bright and smile wide. He looked absolutely touched. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"You never asked," Alfred replied easily with a hint of bitterness. Of course Matthew never asked about his gang - he found it disdainful. He wanted nothing to do with his gang at all.

As his brother was about to answer, the door flung open, startling the two boys.

"We're closed right now," Matthew called, glancing briefly at the figure of the newcomer.

"Ah, think you can make an exception?" Arthur asked, smiling at the two boys before him as he placed his jacket on the back of a chair.

"Artie!" Alfred greeted cheerfully, clapping his best friend on the shoulder heartily. "Feels like I ain't seen ya in ages, pal."

"Al, you twit, we have three classes together," Arthur replied patronizingly, rolling his eyes in fond exasperation.

"Three classes ain't enough," Alfred said with mock-seriousness, eyes wide and earnest.

"Ah, shaddup," Arthur laughed, giving the younger boy a good-natured shove. "Keep pullin' stunts like that and people'll start to think you're a fag. Word gets around fast, ya know, and folks like to talk."

"Uh, right," Alfred chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You got nothin' to worry about though, since you like birds and that's all there is to it," Arthur assured Alfred, tone firm and decisive.

"Was there anything you wanted, Arthur?" Matthew interrupted, sensing Alfred's uncomfortable mood and stepping in to save him.

"Lookin' for your main squeeze?" Alfred joked, referring to the beautiful fox that was Marianne Bonnefoy, the sweet and sultry daughter of Mr. Bonnefoy.

"Any other day I'd be all for drawing designs on Marie, but today I came to ask y'a favor," Arthur said, taking a seat on one of the stools, leaning backwards against the counter as he rested an elbow on it, a gesture Alfred knew to mean that he was all business.

Matthew bustled off to prepare some root beers for the two, knowing they enjoyed sipping on the beverages while discussing anything together.

"Sure thing, buddy boy. What can I do for ya?" Alfred asked, walking over to a nearby table and pulling out a chair. He sat down, resting his feet on the table before looking up expectantly at the older teen.

Arthur looked slightly discomfited for a moment before his face took on his usual easy-going, playful expression.

"So, I and the boys've been talkin', and we've decided that it's time to prove once and for all that us Matts are the greatest."

"And how d'ya plan on doin' that?" Alfred asked curiously, leaning up to look at the Brit in interest.

"Petey came up with it, and it's actually a copacetic idea."

"You're agreein' with Pete? Must be a damn good idea, then," Alfred said in awe, sinking back down against his chair. "C'mon, Artie - lay it on me! What's this prize-winning plan you've got goin' on?"

"We're gonna hold a rumble to finally prove that the Matts rule the streets!" Arthur exclaimed, spinning around in his stool as he threw his arms in the air.

"A rumble?" Matthew and Alfred repeated simultaneously, Matthew with concern and Alfred with surprise.

"Thanks, Matthew," Arthur murmured briefly as the older boy handed him a root beer before performing the same action with Alfred. "Yeah, a rumble! It'll be bitchin', I can guarantee ya."

"A rumble as in ... Involving violence?" Matthew asked to clarify, brows furrowed in worry. Matthew was older than the members of their gang by a year or two, and although he wasn't overly close with any of them save for Alfred and Arthur, he cared about their well-being. They were just kids, and the thought of them getting into any sorts of scuffles troubled him greatly.

"What other kind is there?" Arthur replied easily, shrugging as he sipped his root beer.

"Lighten up, Mattie," Alfred assured his brother, "Artie wouldn't be goin' around jumpin' bad with them Fobs unless it was important!"

"You guys are just kids, you shouldn't be 'jumping bad' with anyone!" Matthew exclaimed, mouth set into a frown. "You should be spending your days as normal teens, doing fun stuff like baseball or basketball or doing schoolwork or fawning over cars!"

"Yeesh, dweeb. When did you become middle-aged?" Alfred quipped, raising an eyebrow. "You sound like mom and pops - what's up with that? I know they practically worship the very ground ya walk on, but man, I didn't know y'absorbed their personalities, too!"

"Don't be a downer, Matthew," Arthur groaned, looking up at the ceiling in exasperation. "You're only a year older than me, Mr. I'm-Nineteen-So-I-Know-Better. Quit actin' like you ain't a kid yourself!"

"I'm not saying I'm an adult, since I'm technically still a teen," Matthew protested.

"Technicalities aside, you ain't got no right tellin' us what to do," Arthur said firmly, jaw set.

"All I'm saying is you guys should be having fun, not spending your free time planning how to 'defeat' a group of people your age who've done absolutely nothing to deserve your hatred of them!" Matthew shouted, face turning red. "The 'Fobs' are people too, you know. Just because they're from different places doesn't make them any less-deserving of kindness and respect! Your entire gang is comprised of foreigners, but they're okay because they're white? What sense does that make? Please tell me, because I don't understand."

"Mattie, I love you. You're my brother and ya mean the world to me, but ya just don't get it," Alfred sighed, shaking his head as he twirled the straw of his root beer around in his glass. "Them FOBs don't belong - got it? They just don't."

Matthew noticed that Alfred's voiced lacked conviction, but thought it best not to comment on it.

"Besides, that Antonio's a first-class pelon," Arthur spat, shaking his head. Arthur absolutely despised the rival leader for reasons unknown to anyone else. "I'd love to hook 'im right where it hurts. He thinks he's quite the badass and I personally would jump bad with that scumbag."

"I don't understand you two," Matthew sighed in defeat, resting his arms against the counter as he leaned behind it. "At least promise me you won't kill each other?"

"We promise, Matt ole pal," Arthur assured him, patting his arm. "Nobody's gonna die, we'll make sure of it! I'm too good a fighter to be killed, and I have Al here to hold me back from bumpin' off that no-good spic."

"Language," Matthew warned, but began to relax. "As long as the two of you don't come back severely injured, I can't complain."

"Aw, does Matt-o care about us?" Arthur asked, clutching his heart as he looked touched.

"I care about both of you more than I should," Matthew replied, rolling his eyes as he headed for the employee door. "I'll just be in the back to work on some stuff, you two try not to rough the place up, you dig?"

"Matt-Matt's usin' our slang!" Alfred exclaimed in delight, causing his older brother to shake his head and close the door behind him.

"So, whaddaya say, Al?" Arthur asked, turning to the younger blond earnestly. "You in, or you out?"

Alfred exhaled slowly, leaning back against his chair, a thoughtful expression gracing his features.

"Idunno, Artie," he said, biting his lip. "I'm real proud of you for steppin' up as the leader of our boys, and it's swell that you've got a plan for makin' the Matts the kings o' the streets, but ..."

"But?" Arthur asked, beginning to be concerned.

"But bein' part of the Matts doesn't give me the same feeling it used to," Alfred finished quietly, refusing to look at his best friend.

Arthur scrambled off his perch on the stool, stopping in front of Alfred in shock.

"I don't catch your drift," he said, eyes wide. "What d'ya mean, you don't feel like ya used to?"

"Idunno, man! I just ..." Alfred huffed out a breath, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of anxiety. "I just, bein' a Matt doesn't give me a thrill no more. I don't feel satisfied with just bein' a part of it."

"You're not happy with us anymore," Arthur concluded, voice little more than a whisper.

"Well dammit, Artie, when ya put it that way," Alfred groaned, slapping a hand to his face. "It's not that I ain't happy with you and the boys! The two of us created a family outta nothin', I can't just throw that away. You and the boys mean the world to me, just as much as Mattie does!"

"So whatsamatta then?" Arthur asked, voice raised. "We not good enough for you anymore?"

"Artie, please, listen'a me!" Alfred pleaded, voice firm. "I ain't sayin' that I hate you guys, or that I ain't happy with ya, or that you boys ain't good enough or me. Okay?"

"Well whaddaya mean then, Al? Because I'm not digging it," Arthur replied frustratedly, crossing his arms.

"I just get the feelin' that something a lot better is comin' my way, is all," Alfred sighed, shrugging. "That's the best way I can put it."

"What 'something' would that be?"

"Couldn't tell ya if I tried, pal. All I know is it's somethin' great, and ... The feeling of anticipation it gives me - man, oh man! It's like the thrill I used to get from bein' a Matt, Artie. You gotta trust me on this."

"I can't see why you'd find anything better than bein' a Matt, but I trust that you know what you're doing," Arthur conceded. "But I already told the boys you'd be at the confrontation later."

"Why should I go?" Alfred groaned, burying his face in his arms.

"Because I'm askin' you nicely," Arthur replied seriously. "C'mon, Al. It's me, Arthur. I'm askin' you as both your best friend and your brother."

"You're not my brother, Artie."

"Might as well be! The two of us've been the best of buddies since we was ankle biters, toddling around in diapers!"

Alfred let out a small laugh at that, reminiscing about his memories with Arthur. The older blond had a point; Alfred had known Arthur his entire life, and not a single one of his childhood memories _didn't_ contain the laid-back Brit - Arthur was always there, no matter what point in time Alfred remembered. Alfred had never really thought about it until that point, because Arthur was just such a constant in his life that he never really questioned it and assumed that Arthur would always be there.

"How could I forget?" Alfred asked, smiling beatifically at his best friend.

"Womb to tomb?" Arthur began, voice hesitant as he stared at Alfred expectantly.

"Sperm to worm," Alfred continued firmly, gripping the Brit's hand tightly. "Always with ya, 'til the end of the line."

"Atta boy!" Arthur said, pride seeping into his voice. "I knew there was still some bits of Al in ya!"

"Oh, shaddup," Alfred scoffed. "You and I are always gonna be best buddies, no matter what happens. Like you said, we're practically brothers."

"I'll always be here to watch out for ya, Al," Arthur promised. "I swear to ya I won't ever leave you."

Arthur loved Alfred like he loved a brother, and he'd make good on his promise to always look out for the younger teen. Being without Alfred was a thought that the Brit couldn't bear thinking; Alfred was always there and always would be.

"'Til the end of the line?" Alfred asked, holding out a fist.

"And beyond," Arthur vowed, bumping his fist against Alfred's.

The two boys couldn't count the amount of times they'd made that same promise, but they didn't mind. Their friendship meant the world to them, and they'd make their promise a thousand times more if it meant they never parted.

"So, what time's the confrontation?" Alfred asked, looking up expectantly at Arthur.

Arthur blinked in surprise at Alfred, a look of comprehension dawning on his face, and he grinned.

* * *

 

"Que diabos?" Miguel exclaimed, examining the few marks gracing the skin on Lovino's arm. "What happened?"

"Stupid fucking Matts, that's what," the Italian growled in reply, pulling his arm away from the Portuguese teen. "I'm fine, Miguel, it's only a few bruises."

Lovino, Jamar, and Toni had just arrived at their gang's meeting place - a back alley on the other side of town - from their scuffle with the Matts an hour before.

"Arturo gripped him quite hard while pulling him away," Antonio supplied, wincing at the sight of his boyfriend's injuries despite the fact that they were merely bruises.

"Ah não, Jamar! How did you get these scratches?" Miguel asked in exasperation, inspecting the scrapes on the Cameroonian. "They're everywhere!"

"That stupid Australian pushed me to the ground," Jamar muttered, glaring at the floor. "Those idiotic Matts are making it hard for me to feel empathy towards them."

Jamar had big dreams of helping to end racism and discrimination of all kinds, and he showed kindness to people of all sorts regardless of race, gender, or sexuality. However, with Jamar being an African-American, the sentiment was rarely ever reciprocated and the teen was often bullied and harassed simply because he was a different color. He remained kind and compassionate despite his mistreatment, which was a trait that drew Antonio to him in the first place.

"The Matts are pigs, what did you expect?" Lovino said, rolling his eyes. "A bunch of pale dipshits with an abundance of white privelige."

"Oh Lovi, who hurt you to make you so bitter?" Antonio tutted, shaking his head.

"The same people that harassed you enough to make you want to start this gang in the first place," Lovino replied easily, referring of course to the Matts.

"We're back, and we got some first-aid supplies like you asked," Hien called, followed by Yao as the two Asian teens ran into the small park.

"Gracias," Antonio chirped, shooting a smile at the two boys. Now that all of the members of their gang were present, the Spaniard figured it was time to speak to his boys as a leader.

"I know some of you haven't heard the story, but Lovino and Jamar were attacked by the Matts today over in the abandoned parking lot by Bonnefoy's," Antonio explained, clearing up any confusion on the matter.

"How did it start?" Yao asked, brows furrowing with disapproval. Anything the Matts did was met with the same reaction from the Chinese boy, especially when it came to the white boys picking fights with them.

"Lovino and I were taking our usual route from school to here," Jamar began, the 'here' referring to their meeting spot, "and our route so-happened to be under construction. So Lovino and I couldn't do anything else but take a quick detour through their territory, and they caught us."

"We tried to explain, but you know white people," Lovino sighed wearily. "It's always 'shoot first and ask questions later' with them."

"We were outnumbered four to two," Jamar added, grumbling. "Then to top it all off, the dang cops showed up and told us to scram."

"Which cops?" Hien asked worriedly. He'd had his fair share of run-ins with all sorts of cops before he'd joined the gang, just for being Vietnamese, and he knew which were almost-decent and which would take you to the slammer with no question. Antonio often asked Hien about his knowledge of authority figures, to make sure he and his boys could be safe.

"The usuals," Lovino replied, waving a hand dismissively. "The lovely couple, Zwingli and Adnan. Dio, they're annoying."

The six boys stood in silence after that, Lovino kicking the ground while the others shifted around or stood stock still.

"Yao, Hien, and I are sorry that we weren't there to help," Miguel spoke up quietly.

"No es problema," Antonio assured his older brother, frowning a little. "It's my fault for being late. I could have saved Lovino and Jamar from being injured. I'm supposed to protect you boys; it's why I started this gang in the first place -  to protect those who are affected by discrimination. What kind of leader am I if I'm not even there when you need me?"

"We managed pretty well before you arrived," Jamar comforted their leader, giving a half-hearted smile. "Lovino and I looked out for each other, we always do. You don't have to worry about us all the time."

"Besides, we're a gang, and that means gia đình," Hien said firmly. " _Famiy_. It's not just you who has the responsibility of looking after all of us; we all have to look out for each other just the same."

"You may be our leader, but that doesn't mean that only you are capable of caring for us," Yao added. "We all care for each other because we're all we've got. Like Hien said, we're jiātíng."

The unlikely friendship between the two Asians was astounding, mostly due to the fact that their countries shared a rocky relationship. Despite that, they got on fine, and although Antonio had initially been worried about how they would get along, his worries appeared to be for nothing.

"Toni, you said so yourself that you started this gang to protect people like you," Miguel said, resting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Every single one of us has been a victim of racism, and discrimination, and we've all been badly mistreated. Why do you think all of us have such a strong bond? We understand each other, we know what we've all been through, and we're all fighting for the same cause."

"To fight the Matts," Lovino finished jokingly, settling himself under Antonio's arm. "Those sentimental nerds have a point, Toni. We're here because we have no one else, and because we want to put an end to discrimination." Lovino took Antonio's hand in his, giving it a small kiss. " _All_ types of discrimination."

"I think you're the sentimental nerd here, Lovi," Antonio teased, leaning in to kiss the Italian properly.

"Ugh, get a room," Yao complained, pulling Jamar in front of him, using the Cameroonian's advantageous height to shield his eyes.

"Yao's just bitter that he hasn't found love yet," Hien snickered, dodging quickly as the Chinese teen darted out a hand to smack him.

"Say that again, I dare you!" Yao shouted, but his smile was apparent even as he jumped forward to tackle the cheeky Vietnamese.

The remaining boys shrugged before joining in on the dog pile, laughing and squirming and giggling on the ground.

"We're definitely mean, filthy foreigners," Antonio laughed, sitting up and grinning at his boys.

"Such a threat to the precious American people we are," Jamar added, rolling his eyes with a small smile.

"Look at how threatening we are; no wonder the Matts hate us so much, they clearly have a valid reason to," Hien said in mock-earnestness.

"We're a clearly a tough gang," Yao said, a hint of a grin on his lips as he flexed his biceps. "Look, we're so tough that we knocked each other to the ground!"

"Careful, the cops might overhear you and take you to the slammer for being foreign, but deny it and say it's for your 'violent tendencies,'" Lovino warned, grinning as he made a dramatic show of glancing around to make sure no policemen were around.

"The cops're everywhere," Miguel sighed, resting an arm on Antonio's shoulder.

"Nah, only wherever _we_ go," Hien corrected, and the six of them burst into laughter once more.

They were coping, and although it didn't necessarily make sense, it worked for them. Humor had a way of loosening tension, and the boys found it easier to laugh about their woes than spend time moping about them. It was another way for them to bond - through jokes about their hardships.

"The only comfort I have is that those damn Matts hate the cops just as much as we do, if not more," Lovino grumbled, crossing his arms. Antonio wrapped a comforting arm around his waist, squeezing gently.

"The Matts know just as well as we do that cops are no good," Yao huffed. "It's their only redeeming quality."

"'Stupid Fobs,'" Jamar spat in a crude imitation of a Matt.

"'Get outta here, filthy FOBs,'" Miguel demanded, portraying a cop.

"If the rest of the world turns against us, then at least we have each other, sí?" Antonio spoke up, smiling his trademark sunny grin at his boys as he stood up.

One by one, they each stood and put a hand in the middle of their pile until each of them had one hand held out.

"Fobs equivale familia," Toni began, voice filled with pride.

The rest of them replied simultaneously, each of them repeating the phrase "Fobs equals family" in their own native tongues.

There was a lull in conversation following their chant, and the six boys stood in content silence.

"Let the Matts do whatever, they probably won't be bothering us for a long while," Miguel said, breaking the silence.

"Thật," Hien nodded. "The cops probably told them to back off from us for a bit to save them trouble. Now," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a package, "who is up for a few card games?"

"Ah, prepare to be beaten," Antonio said, grinning. "I'm the best at cards!"

Lovino barked out a laugh at that, turning to look at his partner incredulously.

"Dispiace, did you just say that you're better than me at cards?"

"No, I said I'm the best at it," Antonio replied confusedly, tilting his head in confusion at the Italian.

"That implies that you think you're better than I am!" 

"Ah, sí! I guess it does."

"You can't make such declarations without proving it first," Lovino said matter-of-factly, snatching the cards away from Hien before shuffling them idly. He sat down and leaned against the wall, the other boys joining him after a moment.

"The three of us against each other, losers become the winner's servant for a week," Hien suggested, glaring at Lovino for taking them without asking.

"I agree to those terms," Antonio said as he swiped the cards from Lovino, shuffling them once more before dealing them out.

As the three boys looked over their cards and decided on the first game, the remaining three watched on in amusement.

"We'll have to determine a winner," Yao said, looking thoughtful. "My vote is for Hien."

"Big surprise there," Miguel said, letting out a small laugh as he rolled his eyes.

"Oh, please. I'm guessing your bet is Toni?" Jamar guessed, raising a brow.

"Oh, calar-se, Mr. Obviously-Betting-On-Lovino," Miguel mocked, sticking out his tongue briefly.

As they bickered good-naturedly and the other three competed to be king of cards, it was easy for them to pretend that they were normal teenagers in high school. When they spent time together as a gang, they allowed themselves to behave like regular kids their age, rather than dealing with the Matts and having to constantly be on-guard and alert for any signs of aggression from people. When it was just the six of them, they could let their guard down and relax. They could finally feel normal, which was a category that society had constantly tried to convince them that they didn't fit into.

The game of cards continued on, with the other three boys eventually joining in out of boredom until all six boys were competing for the crown; laughing, cheating, and in Lovino's case, throwing fits when he lost a round.

The sky darkened as the sun sank lower in the sky, and the October chill began to settle in, causing the six boys to huddle closer together as they played in order to stay warm. Despite the dimmer lights and darker sky, the boys made no hurry to leave and return to their homes. The only times they'd truly felt at home were when they were with each other anyhow.

"Have we really been playing cards for two hours?" Jamar asked incredulously, squinting up at the sky and checking his shabby watch that was given to him by his grandfather.

"It appears so," Yao replied, shrugging uncaringly as he slapped a card onto the ground, smirking at everyone else.

Miguel observed the card for a moment, then his hand, before taking out a card and setting it down beside Yao's in smug triumph.

"What the _fuck,"_ Lovino deadpanned, staring at his last card before realizing he'd lost another round.

"So much for being the best," Antonio teased, squeezing Lovino's waist affectionately with his free arm.

"Shut the fuck up, Toni, you've lost some games, too!"

"Sí, but have I lost more games than you have?"

"That's it, I'm breaking up with you," the Italian grumbled, burying his face in the Spaniard's chest.

"Shh, guys, did you hear something?" Hien asked, brows furrowed anxiously.

The six boys sat in silence as Miguel quickly put away their cards, and they heard it; distant footsteps, a clang of metal indicating that someone had gotten through the gate of the chain-link fence, and more muffled footsteps.

They stood up swiftly, preparing themselves for whoever or whatever was approaching.

"You usually expect to find trash at the end of a back alley, and lemme tell ya, buddy boys - this alley is no exception," a familiar British voice drawled, causing the Fobs to tense in recognition.

"I think it's clear why your gang is called the Matts," Lovino called back nonchalantly, "since surely you must be used to being stepped all over by everyone."

One of the Matts burst out of the shadows, Gilbert, and lunged towards the Italian.

"Ai, tu pezza di merda, let me go!" Lovino growled, squirming as he struggled to get out of the German's hold.

"Easy, Gil," Alfred called, expression stoic as he gazed at the six foreigners.

Gilbert released Lovino and stepped back to stand beside his brother with ease, although he still trembled with pent-up anger and he knew it would be hard to hold back.

The older German could be explosive when angry due to his tendency to bottle up all of his emotions, and his occasional anger management issues often caused more harm for their gang than good.

"I see Jones is well and good," Lovino said, eyeing Alfred warily. "Good to know you're only tough when your leader's around. I was sure he'd abandoned you guys for good this time."

"Tell Anger Issues over there not to touch my boys," Antonio demanded quickly before they could reply to Lovino, glaring coolly at the Matts - Arthur especially.

"Wouldn't dream of it," the Brit replied, smirking. "Touching boys is your job, after all."

"Only those I deem worthy," Antonio said without missing a beat, stepping forward to jab the Brit in the chest roughly. "Sorry Arturo, you don't make the cut."

Arthur noticeably recoiled, backing away as he spat, "Don't touch me, you good-for-nothing fag! I might catch your disease, and then I'd hafta shoot myself. I don't even know why I bother with ya - I'd _never_ be caught dead with a fag."

His harsh comments caused Antonio, Lovino, and Alfred to wince in a gesture of hurt, and Jamar stepped in quickly.

"Get out of our territory! You don't belong here."

"Says you! Where were you and Lovino this morning?" Matthias shouted, stepping forward, only to be held back by Lukas.

"How many times do I have to tell you, we had to take a shortcut through your territory to get here because our usual route was blocked!" Lovino burst out, letting loose a long-suffering sigh.

The Matts clearly didn't believe him, but Antonio cut in before they could harass him even more.

"What are you doing here?" he asked firmly.

"We challenge you Fresh Off the Boats to a rumble," Arthur said, chin up as he held his head high, "all out, once and for all. Accept?"

Antonio looked at the rival leader in consideration, tilting his head.

"On what terms?"

"Whatever terms you're callin', spic. You've crossed the line way too often."

" _We_ have?" Antonio asked incredulously.

"You started it," Jamar muttered under his breath, but was heard by everyone else.

"Oh, sure we did. Who harassed Matthias and I this afternoon?" Jett asked, crossing his arms.

"Yeah, who frickin' attacked me just a few hours ago?" Matthias asked, glaring at Lovino.

Lovino shrugged indifferently.

"What can I say, it was self defense. You were being a dick, so you were asking for it. But if that's your shitty argument, then who harassed Toni and I the first day we moved here?"

"What can I say, it was doing the world a favor. You two were bein' hardcore fags out in the open, so y'were askin' for it," Arthur mocked, smirking.

"Do us all a favor and go back where ya came from," Jett spat.

"Then there'd be none of us left but Jones, since literally all of us are fucking foreigners," Lovino exclaimed in the tone of someone who has explained a concept way too many times.

"Besides, who asked ya to move here anyways?" Gilbert snarked.

"I'm sorry, nobody was talking to you, Kraut," Lovino snapped.

"Don't call my brother -" Ludwig began angrily, only to be pushed aside by Gilbert.

"Call me Kraut again, Guido; I dare ya," he taunted.

"Kraut!"

"Guido!"

"Limey," Jamar muttered, glancing at Arthur who glared back.

"Spic," Matthias called to Miguel, who rolled his eyes.

"Real original. Does the Yank have nothing to say?" he asked, referring to Alfred.

"Fuck off, Miguel," was all that the American could say in reply.

"Chinks," Jett taunted, directed to both Hien and Yao, who glanced at each other briefly before breaking out into a series of insults.

The yelling and commotion grew louder, everyone throwing racial slurs and derogatory terms left and right, before Antonio cut in.

"Hey, that's enough," he shouted above the noise, and everyone quieted down immediately.

Antonio was always calm, quiet, and cool in the face of the Matts - he rarely ever lost his composure or raised his voice in front of them. When Antonio yelled, it was taken seriously by everyone, Matts and Fobs alike. "We accept," he continued, quieter.

"Time?" Arthur asked, continuing on like nothing had happened.

"Tomorrow," Antonio said decisively, and Arthur nodded in approval.

"Place?"

"The abandoned lot behind the school," Antonio said.

"The park," Arthur replied.

"The empty warehouse a few streets away from here."

"The basketball court."

"Under the highway."

Arthur nodded once again.

"Weapons?"

"Sticks," Antonio suggested mockingly.

"Rocks," Arthur countered easily playing along.

"Bricks."

"Bats."

"Clubs."

"Chains."

"Kinky," Lovino muttered, and Arthur recoiled yet again.

"You shut up," he snapped before turning back to Antonio. "Your call."

"Fair fight!"

Both groups of boys turned in confusion to see Alfred step forward, eyes bright like they usually got when he'd thought of a genius idea.

"Excuse me?" Arthur asked, raising a questioning brow.

"Fair fight!" Alfred repeated. "Who said we need weapons? Just slug it out, mano a mano."

Antonio regarded Alfred with a grudging appreciation for using his language genuinely and not in mockery. 'Mano a mano' meant 'hand to hand' in Spanish, referring to unarmed combat, and Antonio was pleasantly surprised at the proper use of his language.

Arthur, however, stared at Alfred disbelievingly.

"You're not serious?" he asked, voice incredulous.

"I like the way you think, Alfredo," Antonio said appraisingly. "Sí, I accept. We will do this rumble mano a mano."

"Best man from each gang slugs it out," Matthias suggested, clearly eager to be the chosen one.

Arthur glanced briefly at the Dane before nodding slowly.

"Alright, fine. I agree. You and Gil, slug it out under the highway tomorrow."

"Qué? I thought I'd be fighting YOU, Arturo," Antonio said in surprise. "Are you two chicken to go up against me, or is this your subtle way of admitting that you're not the best fighter in your gang?"

In lieu of replying, Arthur held out his hand for the two to briefly shake on their agreement.

Arthur snapped his fingers, signaling to his boys that they move out.

"Tomorrow. You and Gil. Under the highway," Arthur called over his shoulder, shoving Alfred ahead because he was looking back at the Fobs.

The Matts cleared out, leaving the six Fobs alone, and the boys stood in contemplative silence to absorb the event that just occurred.

As the reality of the rumble began to sink in, five of them sat down wearily.

Yao and Hien exchanged a worried but excited look at the prospect of a rumble, while Lovino glanced up at Toni in concern, and Miguel and Jamar sat alone to ponder and brood.

Only Antonio stood standing, and Lovino liked to think it was a metaphor for the strong, fearless leader that the Spaniard was.

As the weight of the silence and impending feeling of dread became too overwhelming, their leader turned to look at his boys, face stony and firm.

_"Those Matts are going down."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> birds - girls  
> main squeeze - girlfriend / boyfriend  
> drawing designs - checking someone out  
> copacetic - cool  
> pelon - bald hispanic (Antonio isn't bald but I think Athur's jealous of his cool hair) or dick  
> jump bad - pick a fight  
> dig - understand  
> que diabos? - what the hell?  
> ah não - oh no  
> no es problema - it's no problem  
> gia đình - family  
> jiātíng - family  
> thật - true  
> dispiace - sorry  
> calar-se - keep quiet, shut up  
> tu pezza di merda - you piece of shit  
> spic - derogatory term for a hispanic person  
> limey - offensive term for a british person  
> chinks - racist slur for chinese, or asian people


	3. The Rumble

"Amazing. _Incroyable_. I can't believe you boys have gotten yourselves into a rumble!"

Antonio grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck as the other boys tactfully glanced away.

They were gathered at their usual spot in the back alley, preparing themselves. The war council had occurred the night before and the rumble was to happen after dark, which was only a few hours away.

"Félicité," he sighed, voice weary as he shot a warning look at the Seychellois, "we're tired, okay? The Matts have caused us too much trouble, and now we're doing something about it. Please try and at least be understanding."

"Non! You could get severely injured, Toni. How could you put yourself in danger like that?" Félicité exclaimed, eyes glinting with anger.

The Seychellois was something of an honorary member of the gang - she was the only girl, and although she didn't participate in any actual gang activities like fights, patrols, or rumbles, she spent time with them as a fellow foreigner and was deemed a member by default. As well, she enjoyed spending time with Jamar seeing as the two of them shared lots in common - a few similarities being that they both knew French and were from countries in Africa. The other members took bets on how long it would take the two to get together, if it were an option. God knew that Félicité was the most independent of them all.

Of course, being the only girl, Félicité knew she wouldn't be listened to often, and in this situation it wasn't ideal.

"Fel, we know what we're doing," Jamar comforted her, resting a hand on her shoulder gently.

"I just don't want any of you to get hurt," she said, mouth pulled down into a frown. "You're all like family to me - what would I do if anything were to happen to you boys?"

"Félicité Malika Bijoutier," Antonio said firmly, knowing that the use of her full name would get her to pay attention, "I appreciate your concern for us greatly, but please understand that this is the right thing to do. Bueno?"

"Can't you settle it any other way?" she asked, desperate for them to end their dispute in a manner that didn't involve physical fighting.

"It's only a fair fight, melenso," Lovino added, rolling his eyes. "The worst injury Toni could get would probably be a concussion, or a shit ton of bruises. No worries."

"Lovi, don't swear in front of a lady!" Antonio chastised, kissing the Italian's cheek to soften his reprimanding.

"Toni, she hangs out with us all the time. I'm sure she's fine with a little language," Lovino replied in a long-suffering tone.

"Back home, boys our age never had war councils," Félicité huffed, crossing her arms petulantly. "Things were _normal_  back home."

"Well if 'back home' is so great, why don't you go back there?" Yao joked, although there was a hint of an edge to his tone.

"I would love to go back to Seychelles," Félicité sighed dreamily, a wistful smile appearing on her face. "Just for a successful visit, perhaps. I enjoy it here, but it would be nice to see my old home again."

"Sí, I think we all get a little homesick at times," Antonio said, a corner of his mouth pulled down dejectedly. "There are days when I get scared that I'll never see my country ever again."

The others nodded in agreement, faces grim. There was no telling when it came to global issues and world happenings; with the immense tension between America and the USSR heightening, and with various conflicts in other places like Vietnam, it wasn't certain that any of them would ever see their homes again.

"Life is alright in America anyhow," Félicité said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Yeah, if you're all-white in America maybe," Lovino scoffed, crossing his arms. "Seriously, try buying anything in this damn place - one look at us foreigners and they charge twice!"

"It's just not fair," Hien grumbled, scowling at the concrete ground. "Every member of the Matts are foreigners!"

"Danish, Norwegian," Yao supplied with the tone of someone who had heard a certain lecture many times before.

"British, German, Australian," Jamar continued with a knowing smile.

" _The only one who's the closest to one-hundred percent American is Jones!"_ the three of them finished simultaneously.

"And technically, that doesn't even exist," Hien thought aloud. "The Americans we know today are from Britain. The only true Americans are the Native Americans."

"Aside from them,  _all_ of us are foreigners," Yao said, shrugging.

"But they're the 'good' kind of foreign, because they're white," Hien added spitefully.

"Ah, but this is 'the land of opportunity,'" Antonio pitched in with mock-earnesty. "Life is supposed to be _better_ for us here!"

The boys burst into sardonic laughter with even Félicité letting out a bitter chuckle.

"Well chicos, now we have a chance to prove ourselves," Antonio said, gathering his boys and the Seychellois into a group huddle. "This rumble is our chance to finally show those estúpido Matts what we're capable of; we'll show them that we are just as good and important as they are!"

The gang let out a big cheer, excitement coursing through their veins. They had hopes that if they won this rumble, they could finally begin to earn some respect and take more steps towards making a difference in putting an end to discrimination.

"We may be foreigners, Fresh Off the Boat, but we are so much more than that," Antonio continued, doing his best to keep up their morale. "We're people too, and despite our various ethnicities, we have as much right as anyone else to be treated fairly."

"Điều đó đúng!" Hien exclaimed, eyes aflame with pride. "No matter how many people tell us we're scum, or something to be ashamed of, it doesn't matter because I'll  _always_  be proud to be a Fob, and I'll always be proud of _you_  boys."

The gang disbanded from their huddle on that note, Félicité and Jamar wandering a little ways away, and Hien, Yao, and Miguel conversing as a group near the side of a building.

"Toni," Lovino began, finally allowing worry to show on his face now that they were basically alone.

"Lovi," Antonio cut in firmly, raising a hand to cup the Italian's face gently, "everything will be okay. It's only a fair fight, there's no reason for you to be concerned."

"That Kraut is strong, though," Lovino protested, jaw set firmly. "He has years-upon-years of pent-up anger, and I _know_ he won't hold back  tonight." His voice grew louder and more hysterical with every word, and Antonio had to physically cover his partner's mouth with his hand.

"Querido, _mi amor_ , please calm down," he soothed, running a hand through the Italian's hair, an action that he knew the shorter boy loved. "If anything goes awry for some reason, I have you boys to step in and handle things for me, sí?"

Lovino removed the Spaniard's hand from his mouth, placing a small kiss on the back of it before letting go.

"Of course. The boys and I will _always_ have your back, mio sole."

"Exactamente!" Antonio exclaimed, beaming at his boyfriend.

"Those Matts never play fair, though," Lovino mumbled, looking at the ground. "They're sneaky, and I don't doubt they'll have something up their sleeves."

"Just in case they hand us a surprise, we'll be ready to mix," Miguel called from his spot near a building wall, in an attempt to assure Lovino.

"Like mi hermano said," Antonio continued, "we'll be prepared for anything they throw at us."

There was a brief lull in conversation between the two, the only sounds being the chatter of the other members and the background noise of city life.

"We've been through a lot together, Toni," Lovino spoke up finally, looking up at the Spaniard with a softness reserved only for both his partner and his own twin brother. "You were my first friend when I moved here three years ago, and you've always protected me. Whether it be from racists, bullies, or even myself at times." Lovino's voice grew quiet at the last few words, and he looked down in brief anguish before soldiering on. "When you told me you loved me two years ago, after pitching the idea of creating the Fobs, I knew anything would be fine as long as you were there with me. And Toni, ti amo. I love you so much, you _know_  that. So if anything goes wrong during this rumble, _anything at all_ , you can't stop me if I decide to step in and do something rash. Okay? You _can't_. Because you've always protected me, and it's my turn to do something to protect you."

Antonio stared at the Italian with surprise and affection, his wide grin becoming smaller and fonder into a smile he used for Lovino and Lovino only.

"Mi amor, do you really think you haven't done anything to protect me all these years?" he asked incredulously. "You've done more than you know. You're so special to me, Lovi. Who is it that tells me when what I'm about to do is stupid? Or keeps me by their side near the Matts so I don't go off and hurt myself trying to do something stupid like fight them?" Antonio held both of Lovino's hands before continuing in a softer voice. "Who is it that reminds me every single day that there's good in this world, because they're with me?"

Lovino stared in shock, as if everything Toni said was just occurring to him, which it was.

"Lovi, you ..." Antonio continued, "you've done so much more for me than you think, mi corazón."

In lieu of replying, Lovino stood on his toes and leaned up to kiss his boyfriend lovingly, both of them smiling too much to kiss properly but not caring at all.

"Te amo," Antonio said, placing a small kiss on Lovino's forehead before turning to address the rest of his members. "This rumble will be fine," he said reassuringly, giving them all a sunny grin. "I'll win this for you guys, I promise."

-

"Buddy boys, we gotta keep it cool," Arthur warned, giving his boys stern looks. "I know you boys  got all this emotion in ya, but if ya show it, you are DEAD. Ya can't be vulnerable, or they'll play on your weaknesses and - _cracko jacko!_ You're a goner."

The Matts were gathered at Bonnefoy's to wait before the rumble later on, and Arthur was shooting some pointers at them.

"I know it's only Gil who's fightin', but if worse comes to worse, we all gotta be ready to step in - and that means all this talkin' I'm doin' applies to everyone," the Brit continued.

"All they do is fight," a voice sighed, her slight-but-noticeable French accent making her sound more pouty.

"They don't have anything better to do," Matthew replied, rolling his eyes.

He and Marianne were situated behind the counter with Marianne resting her cheek on her palm and Matthew resting both arms on the counter, hands clasped in front of him.

"I love you both, but I'm not opposed to kicking you out if you're gonna be that way," Arthur threatened, although the tiniest smile was appearing.

The two diner workers made a show of zipping their mouths to indicate they would keep quiet, and Marianne motioned for her boyfriend to continue.

"They think we're a bunch of hoodlums," Matthias interrupted, jerking his head at Matthew and Marianne. "Just a dumb broad and a nerdy pacifist. Why do we even bother with 'em?"

Arthur and Alfred's looks became stony, and Lukas subconsciously pushed Matthias so that the Dane was situated slightly behind him.

"Dumb broad?" Marianne exclaimed, eyes wide in offense. "Mon _dieu_. I'll have you know, petit Dane, I have been in this country far longer than you have, and I _also_ guarantee that I'm _smarter_ than you."

"That 'nerdy pacifist' is my brother," Alfred said, voice hard, "and he and Marianne allow us to use this place whenever we want, regardless of the fact that we might bring trouble. _That's_  why we bother with them."

"Alright, cool guys," Gilbert spoke up, holding his hands out placatingly. "Bigger problems here. No offense," he added, shooting the diner workers an apologetic look.

"Gil's right," Jett said, looking uneasy. "I don't like the feelin' this rumble's givin' me. I feel like we're not prepared."

"We are and we _will_ _be_ if they throw anythin' at us," Arthur said firmly. "We've fought with them Fobs before, we know how they work. Us Matts are gonna have our way  tonight, I can promise ya that!"

"Of course! After this rumble and we beat them FOBs, we'll be the kings of the street!"

"Peter, _home_ ," Arthur sighed long-sufferingly, not even having to look to see who the new arrival was. "A rumble's no place for a kid."

"Sorry Daddy-o, I caught him snooping around outside and thought I'd let him in," a new voice apologized, her Hungarian accent barely detectable, and the gang turned in surprise to see Gil's main squeeze, Elizaveta, step inside.

"You always did have a soft spot for Pete, Liz," Gilbert complained, rolling his eyes as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Well now that _all_  of us are here: actual members, honorary members, and annoying little brothers alike," Arthur spoke up, shooting a bitter look at Peter, "I suppose I better get to pep-talkin'."

"Whadda we need pep-talkin' for?" Matthias asked, scoffing. "We know we have what it takes to beat them Fobs once and for all!"

"I wanna get even," Gil growled, his free hand balled into a fist.

"Get cool," Arthur placated.

"I wanna bust!" Matthias exclaimed, punching the air.

"Bust cool," Arthur warned.

"I wanna _go_ ," Ludwig said with quiet anger, cracking his knuckles as he stared in determination.

"Go cool," Arthur said, eyeing the other boys. "You can't act rash like this, fellas. Acting rash means less thinkin', and less thinkin' means putting yourself in danger."

"Couldn't you just settle this by playing basketball?" Matthew asked wearily from his perch behind the counter.

"Stay outta this, Matt-o. I thought your lips were sealed?" Arthur said sternly without even sparing the older teen a glance.

Matthew shared a look with Marianne and Liz, the three of them shaking their heads or rolling their eyes.

"You know who'd be a great addition t'our gang?" Matthias asked, smiling a little.

"Who?" Lukas replied, just to humor him.

"Superman! He's so strong and cool. Gee, I love him."

"Then marry him," Lukas teased, shoving the Dane playfully.

"I ain't never gonna get married," Peter said decisively. "Too noisy."

"You ain't never gonna get married: too ugly," Jett retorted, causing everyone to burst into laughter save for Matthew and the girls.

"Hey, lay off my little brother," Arthur complained after his chuckles subsided, placing a hand on Peter's shoulder. "He shares my fine looks, anyhow. Besides, we  all know he ain't gonna get married because he wants to marry this gang so badly."

The boys laughed again, and Peter crossed his arms and pouted, stomping off to sit on a stool at the counter where Matthew and Marianne comforted him.

"Alright, fellas," Arthur shouted above the din, trying to get everyone's attention, "that's enough. Now, if things go wrong for some reason, and Gil needs help, we all gotta step in and have at Toni, okay?"

"Right, Daddy-o!" Matthias exclaimed, giving a nod of confirmation.

"All of you against him?" Liz asked incredulously. "Don't you think that's unfair?"

"Oui! What happened to 'fair fight,' Arthur?" Marianna asked, brows furrowed.

"Whose side are you chicks on?" Jett growled, glaring at them.

"They don't even bother with us, why should we bother with 'em?" Matthias whispered to Lukas bitterly.

"Don't talk to ladies that way," Matthew warned Jett. "They're asking good questions. If Gil goes down, that means the Fobs win. You can't jump Antonio six to one!"

"Matthew, Matthew, _Matthew_ ," Arthur sighed, shaking his head. "We made it seem like a fair fight - whoever falls first loses, fair and square - but in all actuality, we ain't gonna settle for that."

"We're gonna keep fightin' dirty until we come out on top!" Gil exclaimed.

"I guarantee you that the Fobs have the same idea," Ludwig assured the older teen.

"Have you no dignity?" Matthew asked incredulously.

"Matts stick together, and we always look out for each other," Alfred spoke up. "If Gil goes down, we avenge him."

"We all have his back," Lukas added, nodding firmly. "We can't just sit and watch as he gets defeated; we gotta step in and help. We're family."

"Quite a dysfunctional family," Marianne murmured under her breath to Matthew, rolling her eyes.

"Okay boys, the rumble's not for another hour or so. You're all free to go, as long as you meet back here in half an hour. Got it?" Arthur demanded, and the other boys nodded to show they understood. Some left the diner, and others stuck around to chat or eat.

"Gil, _please_  be careful," Liz said earnestly, face full of worry. "I don't want anything to happen to you."

"I'll be fine, Liz, don't worry," the German assured her, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Antonio is no match for me; I'll have him on the ground, begging for mercy in no time."

"Still ... Spanish people can be quite the fighters," Elizaveta murmured, almost to herself. "They were quite ruthless pirates back in the day."

"Your geek side is showing," Gil teased, shooting her a fond smile. Both Gilbert and Elizaveta were fanatics when it came to the subject of history, and they'd both been together for so long, so the others began to coin them as the Historic Couple. "Sure, Spain's had a tough phase, but so has Germany, and that buddy boy is goin' down," the German continued, punching the air.

"Easy, Gil," Arthur called, raising an eyebrow in warning.

"Right, Daddy-o," Gil sighed, running a hand over his face. "'Save that energy for the rumble, and keep cool.' I know, Arthur. I know."

The Matt leader gave a satisfied nod and shot the couple a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry Liz,"he said flippantly, "we've all got Gil's back. We won't let anythin' happen to him."

"As long as he isn't reckless," Elizaveta chided, shaking her head in fond exasperation. Gilbert took that moment to steal a quick kiss, and the two wandered towards a table near the back of the diner, hands intertwined. Anyone from miles away could see how in love the two were, and nobody dared to interrupt the couple.

"You'll be alright, won't you, Al?" Peter asked, making his way towards the older blond boy.

Alfred ruffled Peter's hair.

"I think your brother's the one you should worry about, not me. He won't be able to control himself once Gil and Antonio have at each other, oh no, he'll wanna be a part of that sweet action."

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Gill will be fine, and so will I. It's the  _schmuck_ I'm worried about," he teased, shoving Alfred gently.

"Hey, who're you callin' schmuck?" Alfred retorted, shoving him back.

"I just don't want ya to get hurt from bein' reckless!" Peter insisted.

"Me? Reckless?" Alfred scoffed. "Ahhh, c'mon."

"Just you wait," Arthur muttered good-naturedly. "Somethin's gonna happen, maybe Gil'll get the Big Winnie, and if he does, you'll try and come between the two of 'em and it'll all be over.  _Bam,_ " Arthur said, clapping his hands together. "Alfred's outta commission."

Peter nodded emphatically.

"Just my luck that I have the Kirklands looking out for me twenty-four-seven," Alfred laughed, pulling the two on either side of him into a one-armed hug before shoving them away. Alfred and Peter went to join Matthew and Marianne, who were seated at the counter. Matthew greeted them with a smile. Arthur remained standing where he was.

"Cher," Marianne said, slipping from behind the counter to join the Brit at his side. "I don't like that this is 'once and for all' talk. It seems so ... _final_."

"That's the point, love," Arthur replied, giving his partner a patronizing look as he wrapped an arm around her waist. "Us Matts'll finally prove we're the best, we'll come out on top, them Fobs'll never bother us again, and it'll all be alright. Now, did your slow French brain catch all that, or do ya need me to repeat?"

Marianne rolled her eyes, elbowing him gently.

"Please, rosbif. If we are talking about who is _slow_ , I can name more than just a few times where I've had to hurry you up or else it would be _years_  before I even got _close_  to co -"

"Hey now, quit that frabbajabba," Arthur snapped, interrupting her hastily. "There're still people around, they don't wanna hear about our ... endeavors."

"What endeavors?" Marianne scoffed, inspecting her nails. "They barely even happen because you take ages to initiate se -"

"I'm a gentleman!" Arthur protested in the most posh British accent he could muster. His girlfriend simply patted his arm consolingly with a pitying smile that he scoffed at.

"Gilbert and Antoine are a good fighting match, non? Kudos to you for thinking that one up, although I would have thought that you would be simply itching for a go at him," Marianne observed lightly, raising a questioning eyebrow at her boyfriend.

"When it comes down to Gil or me, Gil's the obvious choice," Arthur replied easily, shrugging with indifference. "I'd love to have at that Spaniard, but I admit that Gil could do a better job at messin' him up."

Marianne let out a fake-shocked gasp, holding her hand in front of her mouth and eyes comically wide.

"Quoi? Is my proud, brave, I'll-Fight-Antonio-Any-Day Arthur finally admitting that he isn't the best fighter? I mean, we all knew it, you are not that strong mon cher, but to hear you admit it ... C'est fantastique. I would have thought that your ego would keep you from ever saying you were anything less than perfect."

Arthur huffed out a petulant sigh, and instead of replying, he leaned over to press a chaste kiss onto the French girl's lips. Marianne returned it quickly, running a brief hand through his hair before pulling away and smiling beatifically at him.

"Je t'aime, Arthur," she said, just because. It had always been like that between the two of them, ever since they'd started dating a few years ago; they would lovingly bicker - or at times, argue for real - often, but any of the Matts could tell you that the two were very, very in love.

"I love you too, Marianne," Arthur said, grinning wide. 

"If Gil needs backup and you get yourself hurt, I'll kill you," she threatened, but her smile ruined the warning.

"Nothing bad will happen," Arthur assured her with the voice of someone who had explained something too many times. "Don't worry, dear. There'll be no killing or dying tonight. 'Specially not _me_."

"Make sure of it, because I don't know what I'd do without you," Marianne admitted, blushing slightly.

"What? Is the ever-proud Marianne Bonnefoy admittin' that she'd be lost without me, her badass boyfriend?" Arthur mocked, eyes wide in faux-surprise.

"Oh, shut up," she giggled, shoving him lightly.

"Nah, there's nothin' to worry about. Us Matts are gonna rock it tonight!" Arthur exclaimed, and when he looked so strong and certain of himself, Marianne couldn't help but believe him.

-

As the sky darkened into black and the cold grew stronger with every hour, it wasn't ideal for anyone to want to be outdoors. However, as the Fobs stood waiting in the dingy alley under the elevated highway, it was clear that outdoors was where they wanted to be.

The Matts were to arrive any moment, and Jamar paced anxiously up and down while Antonio stretched to prepare himself, the others simply milling about.

Miguel sat with Lovino, and although the two didn't speak, the Italian knew that Miguel was there for comfort, and he was grateful.

The silence between them stretched on; tense, suffocating, full of anticipation. The muffled rumble of cars from above them provided much-needed background noise to fill in the large gaps of sound.

As minutes passed, the atmosphere became more anxious and fidgety, no-longer the tense, dreadful feel from before.

"Where the devil are they?" Yao finally asked in annoyance, crossing his arms. "Are we having a rumble or are we not?"

"We are," a voice said from the shadows, and the Fobs looked around cautiously in case any Matts decided to jump them.

"Buenas noches, Arturo," Antonio called, voice dripping with sarcasm. "We are glad you and your _despicable_  white trash could finally make it."

"Believe me, the pleasure is all ours, Antonio," Arthur growled, stalking out of his hiding spot - the shadows around a wall. The rest of his gang followed obediently, Alfred coming quickly after Arthur, albeit a little cautiously. The Matts trickled out from various areas like water, some arriving from down the alley, others climbing through holes in the walls or fences. They all stood in a cluster with Arthur in the middle, and glared at the foreigners.

"Keep sayin' stuff like that and _I'll_  hafta clobber you instead o' Gil!" Arthur continued, jabbing the air in the Spaniard's general direction with his finger.

"That is an arrangement that I would be much more happy with," Antonio quipped, having wanted to really fight the snarky Brit ever since the two had first met. "Unfortunately, we've all established that you are not the best luchador in your gang."

"Luchador?" Arthur repeated with disgust.

"Luchador," Antonio confirmed snidely. "It means 'fighter', you ignorant Brit."

"Ah, really?" Arthur asked, just to humor the Spaniard. "Because I thought it was, 'look a door.' As in, look! A door you and your scum can leave through." Arthur mock-bowed and swept his hand out, indicating a shabby door located in one of the adjoining alley walls.

"Fuck off, that was _so_ terrible," Lovino groaned. "If you're going to try and make comebacks, at least make them _good_."

"There's a reason FOBs rhymes with SOBs," Jett snickered.

"And Fobs rhymes with sobs," Lukas chimed in.

"What, because we have sob-stories that exist due to you racist fucks?" Hien asked rhetorically, rolling his eyes.

"Because your pathetic-ness makes me wanna sob," Matthias corrected, and the Matts burst into laughter.

"Hey, is this rumble gonna happen or what?" Gil shouted, cracking his knuckles. "I'm ready for the spic to go down."

"Cool, Gil," Arthur muttered out of the side of his mouth, shooting the German a brief and subtle glare. "Gil's right," Alfred cut in, stepping forward. He looked hesitant, but powered through despite his caution. " It's high time we began this rumble. Remember, it's a fair fight. No surprise jazz, alright?"

"I understand the rules, Native Boy," Antonio sighed, waving him off.

"Positions," Arthur barked, and the two gangs backed away until they were pressed against the walls on opposite sides, leaving Antonio and Gilbert in the middle of the alley, with Lovino and Arthur standing beside their respective members.

The soft light from nearby street lamps dimly illuminated their faces and surroundings, casting a faint glow upon the area and making the scene appear more eerie and tense.

"Ready," Antonio murmured.

"Ready!" Lovino said loudly to inform the Matts.

"Ready," Gil hissed, already trembling with anticipation.

"Ready!" Arthur called back. "Now, both of ya come center and shake hands."

"What for?" Antonio asked, visibly repulsed.

"That's how it's done, greaseball," Arthur snapped.

"If it's some sort of, 'common courtesy', then no," Antonio said firmly. "I hate you, you hate me, we all hate each other, so what is the point of pretending to be civil? I don't shake hands with people I hate - I shake hands with people I view as equals. Cut the crap. Let's get to it."

"Sounds fucking good to me," Gil replied with a manic grin. "Alright, let's get to it."

The two moved forward until they met in the center, and they stopped for a moment, holding their stares.

Arthur and Lovino backed away to join their respective gangs on the walls, watching in anticipation.

"Here we go," Antonio whispered to himself, and Gilbert nodded, having heard the small comment.

"It's too bad Arturo's too much of a chicken to even dare versing me," Antonio added, voice louder. "I guess he knows I could beat him, and he's just scared."

"Shaddap and fight already," Arthur yelled, and Gilbert took Antonio's moment of distraction to make a move.

He swung a fist at the Spaniard, aiming for the face, but Antonio reacted just in time so that Gilbert's fist only grazed his cheek.

Antonio grabbed Gilbert's arms and held them firmly, using them to propel himself forward so that he kneed the German right in the groin, then letting his arms go.

"Fuck!" Gilbert shouted, clutching his crotch in agony. He straightened quickly, albeit with a slight stagger and stoop, and kicked a leg out to swipe Antonio's feet from under him.

Antonio tripped, but brought Gilbert down with him, and the two began to tussle on the ground, aiming kicks and hard punches at each other ruthlessly.

It went on for what seemed like hours, but was really only a few minutes. Punch after punch; kick after kick; limbs flying; grunts and cries of pain shattering the silence like gunshots. At one point, Gilbert had Antonio in a fierce headlock, and every move of his arms made the Fobs fear that he'd quite literally snap Antonio's neck.

However, he used Antonio's momentum caused by struggling to push him harshly to the ground, and both gangs winced as they heard Antonio's arm smack against the concrete.

It was clear that Gilbert was gaining the upper-hand with Antonio sprawled on the ground sporting a cut lip and a black eye and more unseen bruises underneath his clothes, and a very-possible broken arm. With this knowledge, Gilbert approached to finish him off.

Antonio kicked hard at Gilbert's knee as the German advanced, and a sickening crack sounded. Gilbert collapsed with a gasp, and Antonio took the opportunity to sit up and punch him square in the face with his good arm, knocking the reckless German out cold with a definite broken knee.

"Someone get him to a doctor," Arthur shouted, and Ludwig ran forward to carry his brother carefully. It was impressive that the younger boy could handle his brother so easily, and Arthur trusted him to take Gilbert to safety. Ludwig had him in a fireman-type carry, and he ran out of the alley and into the night.

With that out of the way, the Brit rolled up the sleeves of his leather jacket, seeing red with fury.

"You're gonna pay for that, ya cocksuckin' spic!" Arthur roared, charging at Antonio with full-speed.

As the Spaniard prepared for impact, Arthur whipped out a pocket-knife at the last minute and lunged forward.

Antonio, having sensed that the Matts would pull something like this, jumped back and the blade missed him by a mere hair. The Spaniard whipped out a small switchblade of his own, and the two gang leaders circled each other carefully, making occasional jabs and lunges towards each other.

The rest of their gangs watched on anxiously; the fiasco with Gil shocked them all, as none of their street fights had ever required real, professional medical help before. Things were serious, but the Fobs were getting high hopes.

"Looks like Arturo isn't so chicken anymore," Antonio observed, smiling lightly as he side-stepped a lunge made by the Brit.

"We'll see who's the chicken after I gut you like one," Arthur snarled, eyeing the Spaniard carefully.

As the two jabbed and lunged back and forth, throwing a few punches and elbows into the fray for good measure, a well-aimed swipe to the arm caused Arthur's knife to go skittering away from him, and he was soon to be a goner as Antonio ran towards him.

"Arthur, here!" Matthias called, tossing the Matt leader his own switchblade from his pocket.

Arthur caught it with ease and shot the Dane a grateful glance before  charging towards Antonio, eyes gleaming with determination.

" _Arthur, don't!"_ Alfred cried, eyes wide with worry and barely-concealed fear.

The sound of Alfred's voice triggered something in the Brit, and he hesitated for a moment, turning to glance at his best friend quickly. Arthur lived to protect Alfred, and any time Alfred's voice took on a tone of urgency, it was Arthur's job to make sure his best pal was okay.

That moment of hesitation was all it took before Antonio struck his hand out, the sheer momentum from his sprint driving the knife straight into Arthur's chest, and the Brit staggered towards Alfred before collapsing in his arms, dead.

"Arthur!" Alfred cried again in anguish, rushing to hold his best friend tightly. "Artie, pal, stay with me, please? You can't go, bud, okay, stay. _P-Please_ stay, what am I ever going to do without you?" Alfred whimpered, clutching Arthur's clammy hand. Tears threatened to spill as Alfred knelt by Arthur, ignoring the other Matts gathered around their leader as well. He didn't care that blood was getting on his shirt.  "I _need_ you," Alfred sniffed, before sparing a glance at the Fobs.

Antonio looked taken aback, staring at his hands as if they were demons possessing him. His gang members stood stock-still, eyes wide.

Alfred trembled with growing rage as he stared at them, eyes narrowed as he saw red. He stood, picked up Arthur's discarded knife, and before he knew it, he rammed it into the Spaniard's body as hard as he could, then pulled it out and watched as Antonio, too, fell dead on the concrete.

The two gangs stopped all action; nobody spoke or moved for a suspended moment, the reality of their rumble sinking in, until -

_"Fuck you!"_ Lovino cried, breaking the silence, voice anguished as he knelt at Antonio's side. "Toni, ti amo, ti amo Toni, please don't leave me, _please_ , I was supposed to protect you, come back to me mio sole I need you, _please_  -"

"Arthur, womb to tomb, sperm to worm, what happened to that?" Alfred whispered, staring at the sky. "Arthur, I'm sorry. Artie, please - I'm _so_  sorry."

All chaos broke loose as the two groups flung insults and accusations at each other, but no one dared to make any physical contact with one another.

" _Hey!"_ Alfred shouted, turning to glare at both sides. "Quit it! They're dead, okay? They're fuckin' dead! Yelling isn't gonna do shit! Just go home, I'll call the police or some shit, just - just everyone _go!"_

Both Matts and Fobs alike gathered around their respective leaders to say one last goodbye before booking it, leaving only Lovino and Alfred left.

"Toni, how can I live? You've always been there for me, Toni, and I couldn't even protect you," Lovino sobbed, hugging the corpse of his boyfriend close, blood staining his clothes. "I'm sorry, Toni. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. You've saved me all these times and I couldn't even do the same. I wish I could save you, mio sole, I wish I could have saved you. Ti amo, mi dispiace, ti amo così tanto, mi dispiace tanto Toni _come back to me_."

Lovino sat there sobbing over the Spaniard until he placed one final kiss on his hand, then his forehead. He stood up, shaking violently, tears streaming down his face as he sent one last goodbye.

"You got what you fucking wanted," he said to Alfred, voice low as he glared at the ground. "He's dead now, okay? He's _dead_. Isn't that what you stupid Matts _wanted?_ Are you fucking _happy_ now?"

With that, Lovino staggered off, leaving Alfred alone with the two former leaders.

"Artie, I -" he began, then shook his head in anguish as he turned to stare pleadingly at the Spaniard's cold body. "Antonio, I'm _so_ sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen, you _have_ to believe me. I _never_ wanted you to die. I'm _sorry_."

He knelt and grabbed Antonio's hand, shaking it firmly in a late gesture of acceptance before putting it down and standing to turn to Arthur.

"Artie, you can't leave me. What am I gonna _do_ , man? How do I go on without my best pal? You promised you'd always be here to watch out for me, and you _swore_  you'd never leave me!" Alfred shouted brokenly, collapsing onto the ground next to the Brit. "Womb to tomb, sperm to worm, remember?" he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut.

The dark sky opened up, and the October weather made an appearance as rain began to fall slowly but steadily all around. The pitter-patter filled the silence, until Alfred let out a sob and broke the quietness of the alley.

"Always with you," he continued their promise, voice barely more than a whisper, "'til the end of the line and beyond, right Artie?"

Alfred never thought he'd see the day where Arthur wouldn't respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> incroyable - incredible  
> melenso - silly  
> chicos - boys  
> estúpido - stupid  
> Điều đó đúng! - that's right!  
> Querido - dear  
> mi amor - my love  
> mio sole - my sun  
> Exactamente - exactly  
> mi hermano - my brother  
> ti amo - I love you  
> mi corazón - my heart  
> te amo - I love you  
> mon dieu - my god  
> petit Dane - little Dane  
> the Big Winnie - to "get the Big Winnie" meant for something to go terribly wrong / the worst thing to happen to you  
> Cher - dear  
> rosbif - roast beef  
> frabbajabba - nonsense, talk  
> Quoi? - what?  
> c'est fantastique - it's fantastic  
> je t'aime - I love you  
> Buenas noches - goodnight, but in a greeting manner in this context  
> luchador - I mean, you'd know the definition if you read the chapter  
> jazz - stuff  
> Greaseball - a person of Italian or Hispanic descent  
> spic - really bad slur for a Hispanic person  
> mi dispiace - I'm sorry  
> Ti amo così tanto - I love you so much


	4. The Dance at the Gym

The halls of the school were somber the next day, nobody speaking much about the loss of two of their fellow students.

Although it was well-known amongst the student body that the Matts and the Fobs were rival gangs, only those present at the rumble knew what really happened. The story going around was that the two had been mugged while walking the streets late at night, taking a shortcut through the alley under the highway to get home quickly.

There was an assembly, and the principal and teachers gave their condolences and goodbyes to the deceased teens along with a lecture on street etiquette and how to stay safe in various situations.

The two gangs thought nothing of it; all they wanted was time to mourn.

"My ma's been badgerin' me about the details of the deaths," Matthias whispered, eyes blank as he stared at the table in the cafeteria. The other Matts sat around him, barely picking at their food.

"Did ya get a look at 'em?" Lukas asked hollowly, mouth twisted into a frown.

"Who?" Ludwig asked, glancing up briefly.

"Arthur and Antonio," Lukas clarified. "At the rumble. They looked as scared as any of us."

"I wish it were a week ago," Jett groaned, burying his head into his arms. "I don't know how to handle this."

"Can y'imagine how Al's feelin' right about now?" Matthias asked in horror. "He must be crushed! He didn't even come to school today!"

"Or Marianne," Gilbert added, face solemn as he wrapped a consoling arm around an exhausted Liz. His leg was in a cast, and he had crutches that were on the floor beside him, unneeded for now. He hadn't been at school that morning - the doctor had insisted he rest his broken leg for as long as he could. He was lucky that the nearest doctor had even taken him in last night. He shifted in his seat, wincing ever-so-slightly; he was still very-much in pain, but did well to hide it.

"I don't even want to think about how Peter must be feeling," Liz whispered in anguish, eyes wide and pitying for the young boy.

"I'm sure the three of them are mourning together," Ludwig said, eyes downcast. "Just like all of us."

There was tense and heavy silence, broken only by the din and murmurs of the other occupants of the cafeteria chatting in hushed tones.

"Things ain't gonna be the same without Artie," Gilbert sighed, staring forlornly at the empty seat which usually held the former leader.

"You're gonna step up as leader though, right Gil?" Jett asked, looking curious.

"What about Al?" Matthias asked, brows furrowed as he glanced back and forth between the German and Australian.

"Al ain't a Matt no more," Gil insisted, releasing Liz to cross his arms. "He's made it very clear that he wants nothin' to do with us. I'm second-in-command, so it's my duty to step up as new Matt leader."

"Think them Fobs have chosen a new leader yet?" Lukas asked, jerking his head towards the table of foreigners at the far end of the cafeteria.

"No doubt Antonio's brother'll step up and take the crown," Matthias replied, narrowing his eyes at Miguel. "Who else could it be?"

"Lovino," Ludwig suggested.

"A likely possibility," Jett said, nodding in consideration.

"Are you serious? Look at all o' ya!"

The Matts and Liz turned in surprise to see Alfred, eyes red and face blotchy, holding a similar-looking Marianne around the waist.

"A-Artie's _d-dead_ , and all you guys can th-think about is who the next leader's gonna be!" Alfred exclaimed, voice wavering slightly with grief and eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Are you that eager to r-r-replace h-him?"

Marianne said nothing, lips pressed into a tight line as she huddled closer to Alfred, seeking comfort, and he tightened the arm around her waist.

"Took the mornin' off?" Gil murmured, raising an eyebrow at the two of them.

"What else were we to do?" Al replied, biting his lip as he and Marianne took their seats in their usual places. "You shoulda seen how devastated poor Petey was. I love that kid like my own brother, and seein' him like that hurt me to no end."

Peter had lost his voice from the amount of pure sobbing that he'd done, and Alfred had been there to hold him in his arms for as long as he needed, quietly crying into his hair. At least they'd had each other.

Things were quiet once more as the teens mourned the loss of their friend and leader, their heads bowed in grief.

The silence was broken with the sound of loud throat-clearing, and the cafeteria went silent as someone struggled to get their attention.

"Scusa, hello, hi!"

"Ah, it's Lovino's pansy brother," Matthias groaned, waving a hand in dismissal. "Who cares."

Feliciano, the perky twin brother of Lovino, ran the student council and always planned activities for the students to partake in. He was enthusiastic, cheerful, and believed in school spirit; despite being a foreigner, his skin was light enough to pass as an acceptable 'white' and his peppiness made him impossible to hate. Other than the Matts, everyone adored the fun Italian to some extent or other, or at least tolerated him.

"I just wanted to remind all of you about the dance tonight at the gym," Feliciano announced from on top of his chair, looking expectantly at everyone. "I know that you probabilmente don't have dancing as a main priority, but I would invite all of you to come and divertiti! Dancing is a good way to relax and forget about things for a while, sì?"

The Italian snuck a glance at his brother, looking for reassurance, and Lovino nodded encouragingly although his face was grim.

"The dance is tonight at ten in the gym, and I hope to see you there!" Feliciano concluded, shooting a sunny grin to the students before hopping back into his seat.

"Dance? Two deaths and that wop wants to dance?" Gil snapped, shooting a glare at the cheery Italian, earning a murderous look from Lovino.

"I don't know, dancing would get us to let loose for once," Jett considered.

"It's been so long since we last had actual fun," Lukas agreed, nodding.

"We need to relax more than anythin'," Matthias said, a decisive look on his face.

"Whaddaya say, Al?" Ludwig asked, turning to the former-but-not-so-former Matt.

The American stared at the table in deep thought, mouth turned down slightly at the corners.

"A dance? So soon after A-Artie? Idunno, buddy boys ..."

"C'mon, Al, it won't be so bad," Matthias said earnestly. "Artie woulda been itchin' at the prospect of a dance! Do it for him, yeah?"

"Arthur wouldn't have missed a dance for the world," Lukas added, a nostalgic smile beginning to grow. "Remember how he used to own the dance floor with our dear Marie?"

Marianne sniffled, but a small smile crept onto her face as she nodded in remembrance.

"Oui, Arthur et moi were the king and queen of the dance floor, non?"

"Oh, of course!" Jett said, recalling how everyone would cheer and clap once the former Matt leader and his girl took to the floor.

"'Sides, Artie told us you were waitin' for somethin' incredible!" Matthias said, eyes bright with curiosity. "Who knows, Al? Maybe what you're waitin' for might happen tonight!"

"Perhaps a chick or two to catch your eye?" Gilbert teased, having came around to the idea of attending the dance.

"There'll be plenty o' birds twitchin' at the dance, buddy boy!" Jett assured Alfred, elbowing him playfully.

Alfred huffed out a breath that could be interpreted as a laugh before lifting his head, revealing a lopsided smile.

"What time should we meet here?"

"Depends on if we wanna get sloshed before the dance," Gilbert said, contemplating.

"No. No drinking before it," Ludwig said firmly, fixing them all with stern looks. "That won't end well for anyone, trust me."

"Aw, Luddykins is lookin' out for us!" Gil exclaimed happily, pinching his younger brother's cheeks.

"Gilbert, stop," Ludwig complained, swatting his brother's hands away in annoyance. "I just don't want any of you to get in trouble for being drunk at the dance. The teachers won't be pleased, and plus, Feliciano worked hard to plan it."

"Ah, who cares about that Dago?" Matthias complained, throwing his head back in annoyance.

"I'm just saying, if I worked hard on something, I wouldn't appreciate people ruining it," Ludwig sighed. "Believe me, I don't care much for those stupid Italians at all."

"'Course ya don't, you're with us," Gilbert laughed, giving the younger German a noogie. 

"Marianne? Liz? You two in?" Alfred asked gently, glancing at the two of them.

The two girls shared a look before nodding, albeit slightly hesitantly.

"For Arthur," Marianne said quietly, but firmly.

"Of course - for Arthur," Liz repeated, nodding happily.

"For Artie?" Al asked, raising an eyebrow at the other teen boys.

"For Artie!" they agreed simultaneously, before bursting into various cheers.

"What are those Matts so cheerful about?" Lovino grumbled, shooting the offending gang a dark look from across the room. "Shouldn't they be grieving? Or do they just not have any hearts at all?"

"Maybe they're coming to the dance," Feliciano suggested from his spot beside his brother, eyes brightening.

"First of all, there's no way those 'ragazzi forti' are going to come to the dance," Lovino muttered, glaring at the table top. "Second, you wouldn't want them there anyways."

"The more the merrier," the cheerful Italian said, smiling widely. His views on the two gangs mirrored that of Matthew's, although Feliciano was more subtle and happy about things than Matthew tended to be.

"Lighten up, Lovino. Perhaps the dance will do some good," Yao suggested, shooting the Italian a sympathetic smile. "Even you have to agree that dancing is quite cathartic."

"What point is there in dancing if I can't dance with Toni?" Lovino murmured, mouth twisting into a frown as tears threatened to spill.

"We miss him too," Hien said quietly, reaching over the table to pat Lovino's arm comfortingly.

"Just think, Toni would've loved to come to the dance," Jamar spoke up from his spot beside Félicité.

The Seychellois said nothing, still grieving over the late Fob leader. She felt as if his death were her fault - she did try to warn him, after all. If she had done more, perhaps he could have listened to her and lived.

"Sí, you and Toni loved to dance together!" Feliciano exclaimed. "Any time a mambo began to play, you and Toni would always be the first to take to the floor."

Lovino slumped over to lean on Miguel's shoulder, who sat on the other side of the Italian, where Toni would usually sit.

The two were taking the death of the Spaniard the hardest, having been so close to him while he was alive. Not only did Lovino lose the person he deemed his soulmate, but Miguel lost a little brother as well.

"You two were like kings on the dance floor," Hien bragged, a small, encouraging smile on his face.

"I'll make sure to play a mambo just for you," Feliciano promised his brother, smiling tentatively.

"You don't get it, do you?" Lovino growled, shaking his head vigorously. "I KNOW Toni loved to mambo, and I KNOW he and I did it all the time, okay? Playing a mambo isn't going to do any good - it's too soon! It'll just remind me that mio sole is no longer here to dance with me."

"Please, Lovino? My brother would have wanted you to continue on without him, you know. He can't stand seeing you upset, and I know he would have wanted you to go to the dance."

The Italian visibly deflated at Miguel's words, shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Besides, you two were already planning on going anyways," Yao pointed out. "You can't just cancel on him, imagine how he'd feel about that!"

The remark actually caused a small smile to appear on Lovino's face, and his expression softened ever-so-slightly. His friends were trying for him, and that made all the difference. There was no doubt that they were all grieving over the loss of Antonio as much as Lovino was, and yet they put on a happy facade for his sake. Their consideration touched the Italian and he nodded almost imperceptibly.

"I'll go," he whispered, keeping his head down.

To his surprise, instead of being greeted with loud cheers, he was met with smiles.

"Thank you," Feliciano said sincerely, resting a hand on his brother's arm.

"Let's have us a ball tonight," Jamar said happily, and the others nodded in agreement.

-

Alfred led the way into the gym, pushing open the double doors to reveal himself first. He was dressed in a light blue suit that matched his eyes with a white dress shirt, black shoes, and a navy blue tie.

All eyes turned to him: the Fobs, on their side of the gym, and, more prominently, the various girls that attended their school.

It was no question that Alfred was charmingly attractive and easily the most sought-after bachelor at their high school, and the fact that Alfred never dated anyone only made girls want him more. They were all stuck with the mentality that _they_  would be the one to finally turn his head, for it was true: when it came to girls, Alfred Jones never looked twice.

Everyone brushed it off as plain pickiness; someone as popular as Alfred clearly only wanted a girlfriend who was "the best", someone who matched his status and his looks. This idea only made girls desperate to be "the best" for him, a fact that Arthur used to tease him endlessly about.

"Emma and Alice changed their entire wardrobes for ya, are they good enough yet?" he'd joke, mentioning new girls every day.

Alfred would just roll his eyes.

It was never an option to consider the most obvious reason as to why girls never turned Alfred's head. No, nobody would _dare_  say the words "Alfred F. Jones" and "homosexual" in the same breath - oh, no, Alfred could _never_  be.

Alfred stepped into the gym, adjusting his tie as the other Matts filed in after a moment.

They were all dressed in similar fashion, although Alfred was the only one sporting a blue suit; blue was the color of the Matts. The others wore either classic black suits or grey suits, paired with shirts or ties in various shades of blue. Liz and Marianne also wore blue dresses, each in their own little styles, as well as the other girls who were in the Matts' friend group but not the gang itself.

Across the gym, the Fobs lounged about near the bleachers like a cluster of roses, or poppies. They were all dressed in black suits, with ties or shirts in various shades of red. However, both Miguel and Lovino were dressed in red - Lovino in an almost-maroon suit and Miguel in a slightly brighter red suit with black lapels. Félicité wore a poofy bright scarlet dress, made poofy with the help of a crinoline. This was similar to the other foreign girls who'd grouped themselves with the Fobs - they weren't in the gang, but they were friends.

The Fobs eyed the Matts with suspicion, the tension growing already.

Both gangs conversed amongst themselves in hushed tones, while the tittering of the onlooking students only added to the division.

Feliciano, sensing the colder atmosphere, leaped towards the center of the gym, holding a mic up to his mouth.

"Buona notte! Ciao a tutti!" he greeted, waving his free hand at everyone. "Hello, everyone! Thank you all for coming to the dance!"

The chatter didn't cease, despite Feliciano's little exclamations of, "Attenzione, attenzione!"

Officer Adnan stepped forward from his spot near the gym doors, smacking his baton against his hand, and all noise disappeared.

"Wow, what a fine turn-out!" Feliciano exclaimed, having achieved his goal of gaining attention.

Alfred shifted over to their side of the gym, as he and the boys were still blocking the doors. The Matts followed coolly, only half-listening to the Italian boy. Even Gilbert looked achingly suave, despite being on crutches and in a cast.

"The goal here is to let loose, take a break from stress, have fun, and most importantly, make friends!" Feliciano continued happily, ignoring the aggravated groans coming from the two gangs. "I have a get-together dance in mind, so form two circles: girls on the inside, boys on the outside!"

"Where're you?" Jett shouted, and the Matts burst into laughter.

Lovino growled.

"Watch it, Aussie."

"Shut it, wog."

"So!" Feliciano continued, clapping his hands together. However, since one of his hands was holding the mic, a loud _b_ _oom_  echoed throughout the gym. Everyone covered their ears as a high-pitched squeal rang out.

"Ah, as I was saying," Feliciano continued once the noise died down, "the idea is, when the music stops, each ragazzo dances with the ragazza opposite him! Got it?"

Nobody moved. Pregnant silence filled the gym. 

"Well, it wouldn't hurt you to try!" Feliciano encouraged, voice faltering with uncertainty.

Jett limped forward, pretending to be in great pain.

"O-Oh, it hurts, it _hurts_ ," he agonized, making "hurt" sound like "hoyt" to sound extra American - whatever that meant.

Officer Adnan took a menacing step forward, and Jett took a meek step back into the circle.

Alfred sighed inwardly and reached out a hand to Marianne extravagantly, and she took his hand just as formally, allowing him to lead her to the center of the gym. They stood just in front of Feliciano.

Miguel narrowed his eyes and beckoned to Isabel, a close friend of his from Puerto Rico. She took his hand, and together they walked to meet Alfred's challenge, with Miguel presenting her as if she were a prize as they walked.

One by one, each gang member and their respective girl partner - as well as those students who weren't in gangs - joined the fray, the girls forming a circle around Feliciano and the boys forming a circle around the girls.

The Italian boy wriggled his way out of both circles, stopping in front of them as he signaled for the band to play some simple promenade music.

The boys started walking clockwise, the girls counterclockwise, to the beat of the music. Every one of them looked like they'd rather be doing anything else. Even Lovino couldn't muster any fake enthusiasm for the sake of his brother.

The two circles walked a few moments more until Feliciano blew a whistle and - where the hell did _that_ come from?

Both circles stopped, and everyone assessed the situation.

Alfred was stood in front of the Seychellois girl that always hung out with the Fobs. She seemed nice enough, and he really wouldn't have minded dancing with her to get this whole thing over with, but she was glaring absolute _daggers_ at him and - oh, right, he killed her friend / leader.

Well, to be fair, Antonio killed Arthur first. But, well, that _wasn't_  being fair, because everyone at the rumble knew that that had been an accident. Alfred killing Antonio? Not so much.

Similarly, across the circle, Miguel found himself in front of Arthur's little French girlfriend, who, although shorter than him, still found a way to look down her nose at him with so much disdain.

Miguel supposed she was justified - his brother _had_  killed her boyfriend first.

Everything was tense as the members of both circles were extremely uncomfortable with whomever they were across from. Alfred glanced around, trying to find Marianne, when he met the gaze of someone.

He was tall, definitely new, because Alfred would _remember_ a face and a body like that. He had platinum blond hair, like Gilbert almost, and a boy-ish face that was both childlike and handsome. From what Alfred could see through the plethora of bodies, the boy in question wore a simple white suit, oddly paired with a long, white scarf. Odd because, well, he was wearing a suit and the combination was unusual, but also because it was early fall. And they were indoors. At a dance.

And then Marianne reached a hand out from somewhere to his left, and he took it on instinct, leading her away back to the Matts' side of the gym. The mysterious boy disappeared from his line of sight.

Miguel quickly followed Alfred's example, reaching across some girls to get to Isabel. The two dashed off to the Fobs' side of the room, and the rest of the members of both gangs followed suit.

Soon, the Matts were all dancing on one end, with the Fobs dancing on the other, and the miscellaneous students caught in the middle. Feliciano's get-together dance had ultimately failed, as everyone had disregarded whoever they'd stopped in front of and chosen their original partners anyways.

As Alfred danced with Marianne, he cast furtive glances around the gym to find the boy from earlier. His eyes widened as he caught sight of a mop of platinum blond hair, but he deflated when it turned out to be Gilbert. He and and Liz weren't dancing, persay, seeing as Gil was unable, but they were swaying side-to-side as Liz helped support him and keep him upright. Gil didn't seem to mind that they weren't properly dancing, anyhow.

"You look distracted," Marianne murmured as they circled each other.

There was an unspoken dance competition between the Matts and the Fobs that night, because apparently everything between them was a competition and a fight for power.

Feliciano had asked the band to go for a mambo tune, it seemed, and so the entire gym was mamboing to the best of their ability. Lovino and Miguel and their respective partners were performing more of a traditional mambo, whereas Alfred and the rest of his gang had more of a Westernized spin to their mambo. And the rest of the Fobs weren't doing too bad, either.

"'M fine," Alfred replied as he ducked Marie under his arm to spin her.

"Arthur?" she asked, voice quiet and eyes sad, and he felt terrible that his real answer was, "No, actually. For the first time since last night, not at all."

"Yeah, Artie," he lied instead, because it was easier than admitting the truth.

"I wish he were here, too," Marianne said, beginning to get breathless from the exertion. "Don't get me wrong Alfred, you're a swell dancer, but nobody compares to Arthur."

Alfred rolled his eyes.

"Don't I know it!" he replied, laughing a little. "Artie an' Antonio were easily the two best dancers in all o' Manhattan."

Marianna stiffened a little at the mention of Antonio, but neither of them could dwell on it as the rest of the gang formed a circle around them to cheer them on.

Similarly, on the other side of the gym, the Fobs had formed a circle around Miguel and Isabel, and were rooting them on.

Alfred tried to push the thought of the mysterious boy out of his mind - and really, that boy was _tall_ , how could Alfred have _lost_  him? - and focus on dancing with Marie instead. It was hard, though. It had only been a single glance, lasting no more than a second, but Alfred was hooked.

As the dances between Alfred and Marianne and Miguel and Isabel became more intense, the circles surrounding them became bigger to accommodate for the increased movement.

Alfred lifted Marianne above his head and they spun in a circle, while on the other side, Miguel had Isabel carried upside down, her legs outstretched like the blades of a helicopter as they gracefully promenaded around their area.

As the two circles expanded - the normal students were either dancing off to the sides or watching both spectacles by the bleachers - it just so happened that in his excitement, Gil had backed up right against Félicité. She stumbled and tripped over his crutches onto the ground.

"Sor -" Gilbert said, turning around, the beginning of an apology on his lips, but then he noticed who it was and shrugged. "Never mind."

Lovino, who had been standing beside Félicité, whirled around to glare at the German.

" _Hey_ , you fucking Hermann, apologize to her right now!" 

Gilbert sneered scathingly.

"And if I don't, Goombah?"

Lovino balled his hands into fists at his side.

"Toni almost got around to breaking you, but unforeseen circumstances cut his endeavor short," he said calmly, almost politely, then growled, "However, I am _more_  than willing to finish the job," and launched himself at the crippled boy.

The music stopped at once, and it became a scramble to keep the peace as Hien wrapped his arms around Lovino's waist, holding him back, and Matthias and Lukas stood protectively in front of Gilbert, warding Lovino off.

Officer Adnan started forward, then deemed the two boys properly restrained by their friends, and retreated.

"Hands off, fag!" Gilbert spat, his voice echoing throughout the now-eerily-silent gym. "Do us all a favour and join your boyfriend, he's saved a nice little place for you six feet under!"

"Do you think I don't want to?!" Lovino shouted, voice torn apart. He hadn't expected the raw emotion that had exploded from him. He visibly shrunk upon feeling all eyes on him, and he ducked his head, shrugging his shoulders forward so he was hunched.

"C'mon, guys. Let's go," he said, voice little more than a whisper, but heard throughout the quiet gym as clear as day.

The Fobs shuffled forward to form a makeshift square around Lovino to protect him, and they walked towards the gym doors.

"Oh, and Feli?" Lovino called, just before they exited. "I'm sorry. I'll see you at home." And with that, they left the gym.

Alfred had watched Lovino leaving with sympathetic eyes, and after the Fobs left, he turned to look at Gilbert. His jaw tightened and his eyes hardened as he stared at the German.

"Wha'wazzat all about, Gil?!" he exclaimed, brows furrowed in indignation.

"He tried to attack me, an'm on crutches! How's that fair?" Gilbert shouted, taking a wobbly step forward. His eyes were manic and his formerly-styled hair was mussed. He resembled a crazy scientist.

Officer Adnan approached the boys, hand on his baton.

"Out," was all that he said, and that was enough for them.

Casting one last searching glance around the gym and finding nothing (or rather, no one) that he was looking for, Alfred lead his gang to the doors as they slunk out of the gym.

-

"Fucking great."

The Fobs stood outside in the abandoned lot behind their school, out of sight from any passersby. Lovino and Miguel leaned against the brick wall, arms crossed angrily. Yao and Jamar and Félicité stood around, unsure what to do next. Hien was facing the chain link fence that separated the lot from the school, fingers looped through the holes as he stared out at nothing.

Isabel and the other girls had stayed in the gym, as they weren't actual members of the Fobs.

Lovino shot a furtive glare at Hien, mouth tightening.

"Sorry to ruin your fun, Fred Astaire, but I couldn't give less of a shit that I cut our dancing short."

Hien gave the Italian a sideways, unimpressed look, still not turning his head away from the fence.

"It was our chance to let loose, Lovino," he said calmly.

The other boy laughed sardonically in reply.

"Hien, you're crazy if you think all of us were just going to forget Toni for one night and have fun."

Hien turned around then, hands balled into fists at his sides.

"I never said that!" he exclaimed, voice heightened with anger. "None of us could _ever_  forget Toni, would never even _try_ , but the dancing we were doing tonight was actually _helping_  to calm us down! And then you tried to attack a cripple!"

Félicité winced.

"Oui, Lovino, that wasn't your smartest move."

Lovino hunched his shoulders, glaring around at everyone.

"I wasn't thinking, okay? That German bastard insulted Félicité -"

"Antonio would've been disappointed knowing that you tried to fight someone who was injured and couldn't defend himself," Miguel murmured, but it was loud enough that everyone heard.

Lovino seized up; his body went rigid and frozen and he looked almost sick, as if the mere idea of Toni's disappointment was enough to make him vomit.

For a long moment, no one spoke as Lovino swallowed thickly, still frozen in place.

"How dare you?" he said eventually, voice little more than a murmur, quiet anger emanating from him. "How dare you use Toni's death as an attempt to get me to behave myself? If anything, it should be reason enough for me to personally end every single one of those _godforsaken Matts!"_

His voice had gotten steadily louder and louder with every word, until everyone was flinching at the mere volume.

"He is an angry one, no?"

Everyone jumped suddenly and performed different actions in their fear and haste. Lovino and Miguel and Félicité had brought their fists up on first instinct, preparing for attack. Yao and Jamar had whirled around, trying to locate the culprit.

Hien, however, had simply turned to his right where the voice had come from to find a tall ghost on the other side of the fence, bearing down upon him.

His fingers tightened around the holes of the chain link fence, turning whiter as he looked up and up and up in fear at the tall, white figure that stood before him.

"Hi," the ghost said, and Hien gulped.

"Um, guys?" he said shakily. "Is the school haunted?"

"Haunted?" Lovino repeated, lowering his fists. "What the fuck?"

The rest of the Fobs scrambled towards Hien, peering at the fence curiously.

"That's not a ghost, moron," Yao exclaimed, smacking Hien upside the head. "That's a guy."

In response, the tall boy waved.

"Am I welcome in? I have friends," he said in a peculiar accent, and moved aside to reveal a shorter girl of similar hair color to him, and a very short blond boy who looked no-older than Arthur Kirkland's brother Peter. In fact, they almost kind of looked alike. Almost.

The young boy was wearing a black blazer that was a little too big for him, and a white shirt with black dress pants.

The girl was wearing a silver sundress.

"Who are you guys?" Miguel asked, shouldering his way to the front where he crossed his arms up at the strangers.

The tall boy in the white suit and large white scarf beamed.

"I'm Ivan Braginsky," he greeted happily. "This is my younger sister, Natalya Arlovskaya," he continued, gesturing to the girl at his side, "and this is a dear friend of mine, Raivis Galante." He gestured to the young boy behind him.

Miguel narrowed his eyes.

"Where are you from?"

Ivan's cheerful smile faded a little, and he worried his bottom lip.

"Raivis is from Latvia. Soviet Latvia I am guessing you could call it, to be technical," he said, patting little Raivis on the head. "He is fifteen years old."

Raivis gave a shy smile and a wave, stepping out more fully for the Fobs to get a better look at him.

"Fifteen? He looks not a day over twelve," Jamar said skeptically.

"I'm assuring you that he is fifteen," Ivan replied firmly. "I believe I would know."

Nobody could argue with that logic, so Ivan continued,  "Natalya's father is from Byelorussia. You might also know the country as Belarus."

"And her mother?" Yao asked curiously, stepping forward despite himself.

"Same as mine," Ivan replied, giving his right shoulder a flippant shrug. "We are related through our mother. She is from Russia. My father is also from Russia, if it makes any of a difference."

The Fobs collectively took a wary step back.

"So all of you guys are associated with the USSR?" Félicité asked, raising a brow. "What are you doing here? How - how are you guys even _alive_  right now?"

"Our parents are white émigrés," Ivan explained patiently. "They came to America as young children. My father and our mother came here years after the Russian Civil War, in the early 1930s. Natalya's father arrived here roughly around that time as well.

"My mother and father met here, in America, and fell in love and had me. But some years later, my mother met Natalya's father and ... Well, you can imagine what came from that." Ivan chuckled a little, looking at Natalya with reserved fondness.

"We live with our mother," Natalya said evenly. "Ivan's father left, has not been seen since. And I visit my father's apartment every other week."

"And for me, I had came here about five years ago. It wasn't too hard, nobody really cares about Latvia," Raivis spoke up. "Although the Soviet regime is quite the strict place."

"Someday I hope to go to Russia and see the country of my parents," Ivan mused, "but until then, I am here, and I suffer a lot of suspicion."

"I'd like to visit Belarus too," Natalya muttered dejectedly.

"So ... You guys are new here?" Jamar asked, just to clarify. He'd definitely remember if he saw Ivan around at school, the guy was a giant.

Ivan nodded.

"Well, Raivis is not. He goes to this school already. Natalya and I just moved here from Queens, and our family knows the Galantes, so Raivis is the only person we know here."

"You three chose a perfect first day of school," Jamar sighed. "We swear not every school day starts off like today."

Ivan shrugged.

"We were deeply sorry to hear about the deaths anyways. And excited to hear about the dance. It was a conflict of emotions."

Lovino whistled.

"This must be a shitty time for you guys," he said before clicking his tongue. "If there's one thing Americans hate more than non-whites, it's Soviets."

"Sem ofensa, but how are you guys still around?" Miguel asked, not with condescension, but with sympathy. The whole McCarthyism fiasco wasn't so long ago, and Miguel figured that surely their family must have suffered in some way, shape, or form.

"Keeping of low profile tends to work in favor," Raivis supplied helpfully. "Can't hide the accents, but kids tend to be overlooked by adults. What are they going to do, imprison every child under suspicion of being a communist? "

"And the adults?" Miguel urged, raising a brow. "What of them?"

The three newcomers deflated a little.

"Oh, the usual," Ivan said, trying for faux-flippant. In actuality, it sounded more exhausted and sad, as if the harsh truth of reality was weighing him down. "Losing of jobs, denial of work, social pariah, public shame."

Everyone was silent for a long moment after that. They all knew the situation way too well, had all experienced it in some form or other.

"Are you all doing okay?" Félicité asked sincerely, stepping forward and reaching out a gentle hand, as if she wanted to touch them comfortingly. "Your families?"

The rest of the Fobs gathered forward once more, looking at the ragtag group of newcomers expectantly.

They knew. They _knew_  how it felt to be outsiders in a place meant to be called home, knew how it felt to expect opportunity and have every door close in your face. Knew how it felt to lay in bed at night, wide awake, and listen to your mother cry because she's in fear of being laid off work, of being unable to pay the bills. To watch your dad slowly lose his spark, to watch the fight drain out of him day by day as each jab, each insult, each act of injustice digs and digs and digs away until your father, the strongest man you knew, withered under the white man's stares.

They _knew_.

"Getting by," Natalya replied shortly. "Not the best of situations, but we are getting by."

"Our mother tries her hardest," Ivan piped up. "She works at a bakery, and she is good at her job, so they don't let her go. She bakes in the back, unseen by customers. They probably would not eat if they knew who baked their food."

"My mom works at a convenience store and makes clothes on the side, and my dad is a butcher," Raivis said. "They're doing fine. Things are okay. Not ideal, but okay."

Many well-off Russian-Americans worked in places of high status, like universities or even in the government, in order to suit the needs of America and the on-going Cold War. But those were mostly the Russian aristocrats who had been DP'd post-WWII.

The white émigrés, back in the early 1920s, found themselves working menial tasks like being doormen, waiters, or taxi drivers. It wasn't until about a decade or so later when occupations like seamstress, factory-worker, or meat-packer became readily available.

"Have they ever ... You know," Hien asked, and Lovino turned to look at him.

"We don't know," he deadpanned.

Hien shrugged.

"Have they ever been victims of the Red Scare?"

Ivan nodded grimly.

"People would not talk to them, would not associate," he said. "Mother kept her job, just barely. Raivis' father used to be a waiter, but he lost his job - nobody wanted a Soviet to be serving them. He found the butcher job by luck."

"We were hoping we could join your group," Raivis said, getting straight to the point. "Well, it was Ivan's idea. I had known you guys existed, but it never occurred to me that I could join."

"There is heard tell of a group of outsiders who rebel against the Americans," Ivan supplied, voice taking on a storytelling tone. "There is heard tell of a group of foreigners banding together as a family."

"There is also heard tell of the leader of the group murdering the leader of the American group," Natalya added, a sparkle in her eye. "Rumors. But people whisper, and we hear."

Lovino and Miguel became stiff, expressions guarded.

"We're not murderers," Miguel said quietly. "Injuries in scuffles with the Matts happen, but we do not kill. Nós não matamos. So if you're looking to join this group for some bloodshed, look somewhere else."

Ivan shook his head fervently.

"No, no. That is not it at all. We only wish for somewhere we won't get turned away from." He paused, a little sinister smile on his face. "But I suppose beating up some Americans wouldn't hurt." His gaze become more intense. "We were at the dance, you know. We saw the whole thing. That crippled boy is not very nice. Were he not crippled, I would have stepped in to fight all those Americans."

Hien scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"If you're gonna join the Fobs, the number one rule you gotta know is, those Matts aren't American, none of them are! They're all foreigners, just like the rest of us, but they're white."

"Just like you three Soviet starlets," Lovino murmured, raising a brow. "You sure you don't belong with them?"

"Are you kidding?" Natalya snapped. "Those guys would be killing us if they got the chance, just for us being Soviets. We may be white, but we belong with your group. The persecuted, the shunned, the outcasts. We are with you."

Miguel crossed his arms, straightening his posture so that he drew himself up to his full height.

" _Well_. Then I'm sure you wouldn't say no to a little initiation, eh?"

"Initiation?" Yao asked. "But we don't -"

Lovino elbowed the Chinese boy sharply, and Yao stopped talking with an even more confused look.

"Do you know what's going on?" Hien whispered to Jamar, who shook his head.

"Ivan Braginsky," Miguel said, "I, Miguel Henriques Fernández Carriedo, challenge you to a friendly wrestling match. You win, you and your friends are welcome."

"And if he loses?" Raivis asked. Ivan looked at Miguel nonchalantly, although there was a hint of apprehension in his eyes.

Miguel stared him down, despite being somewhat shorter than him, his eyes cold and steely. The stare-down lasted for a long, tense moment.

Then Miguel broke out into a warm and sunny grin that was so reminiscent of Antonio that Lovino's breath caught in his throat.

"Then you all can still join, but Ivan will never live the humiliation down," Miguel said, laughing warmly as he strided over to unhinge the gate of the chain link fence to finally allow them through.

Ivan's face flooded with relief, and he grinned as he and his friends walked into the abandoned lot.

The challenge was more of a way for Miguel to assert himself as leader, to show that he was a worthy runner-up for his little brother Antonio. Of course Miguel had been the obvious choice of replacement, next of kin and all that, and Miguel had accepted the position to honor his brother.

But there was something he wanted to test, and this challenge would allow him to do so.

"Then I accept," Ivan said happily, shaking Miguel's outstretched hand.

"Have you ever wrestled before?" Miguel asked, eyeing the Russian appraisingly. He certainly had the physique for it.

"Da, in my old school," Ivan said. "There were other kids of Russian descent there. I always versed them."

Miguel nodded, pursing his lips. So maybe Ivan here would be some healthy competition. That didn't bother him none.

"Wait, are you guys doing this here? Really? And in your suits?" Félicité asked dubiously. "Those suits were probably expensive, oui? Probably your _only_  suits. And the ground is rough here, you boys will get hurt."

Miguel furrowed his brows.

"What time is it?"

"Just past eleven o'clock," Jamar said, checking his watch.

Miguel nodded.

"Right. Is your house far, Braginsky?"

Ivan shook his head.

"Not far from the school at all. Ten-minute walk, tops."

"Great. Go home and get some clothes you wouldn't mind getting humiliated in, then head inside the school. My gym clothes are in my locker, so I'll change inside. Meet you outside the cafeteria?"

Ivan's eyes glinted.

"You're on."

He turned and immediately ran down the street before turning a corner and vanishing from sight.

Meanwhile, Miguel had ducked off to the main doors, careful not to run into any monitors.

Natalya smirked a little at his retreating figure before turning to Lovino.

"That leader of yours has made a mistake, you know," she said smugly. "Vanya was the best wrestler on the team back at our old school."

"Oh believe me, piccolo Bielorussia," Lovino said happily, a smirk of his own appearing, "I think he knows exactly what he's doing."

Miguel did, of course, know exactly what he was doing; it was just different from what _Lovino_  thought he was doing.

"Miguel may not be as tall as your brother, and he may not look like a lot, but he's really tough," Hien said, nodding sagely. "Antonio didn't look scary, but he could be terrifying when he wanted to."

"Don't talk about Toni," Lovino said in a clipped tone. "Not in front of them."

"Antonio, your old leader?" Raivis asked timidly.

"Dead now," Lovino said bluntly, without elaborating any further, and a knowing look flickered across the Latvian boy's face.

"At the dance," he said, eyes widening in realization, "when that boy told you to go join your boyfriend -"

"And what of it?" the Italian boy snapped, eyes shining with hurt. "Got a problem? Antonio was my boyfriend. Antonio was the leader of this gang. Antonio is _dead_. Anything else?"

There was silence for a beat, until,

"Was he your lieliska mīlestība?"

Lovino blinked.

"My what?"

"Great love," Raivis supplied. "You know. Of your life. Your one love."

Lovino's mouth screwed up and he stared firmly at the ground for a long moment.

"Of course," he said eventually, voice breaking on the final word, and his face crumpled.

Raivis smiled.

"Then those dumb Americans are sure gonna regret messing with you guys once we join," he said softly, and offered Lovino his hand in silent solidarity.

Lovino wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, then smiled gratefully, genuinely viewing Raivis as an equal.

"They sure are, Latvia," Lovino said with quiet delight.

"It's Raivis," the shorter boy corrected with a roll of his eyes.

"Sorry, Latvia, couldn't hear you," Lovino said dismissively, and they laughed.

Natalya watched the two with mild curiosity, while the rest of the Fobs were watching intently but pretending not to. They still had no idea how to feel about Ivan and his little trio, but if Lovino was warming up to one of them, then ...

"Surely they're alright," Hien whispered to Jamar, brows furrowed.

"I don't see why they wouldn't be," Jamar replied out of the corner of his mouth, shrugging.

"I think they're okay," said Yao. "I mean, they're like me, after all. Under suspicion of being communist and all that. And I'm alright."

"Are you, though?" Hien teased, and Yao rolled his eyes before playfully punching the Vietnamese boy in the shoulder.

"Hush up, you."

Meanwhile, Félicité gazed with poorly-concealed hopefulness at Natalya. She was ecstatic at the prospect of another girl joining the inner circle of the Fobs, and a girl who didn't seem to be afraid of a little rough-housing at that.

Félicité loved her boys, but having girl friends was something grossly under-appreciated by girls who actually had them. She'd give anything to have what they had.

The group spotted Ivan jogging back towards the school in black gym shorts and a fitted white t-shirt, and they collectively started walking towards the front doors.

"Guess that's our cue to go," Raivis said, holding the gate open for everyone else to walk through.

They headed through the front doors, keeping an eye out for any monitors. As far as they knew, the only chaperone was Officer Adnan, but it couldn't hurt to be too careful.

Miguel was leaning against the wall beside the door of the cafeteria, wearing a grey crew-neck sweatshirt and white mid-thigh shorts, his long hair in a tighter ponytail. It made him look tougher, more intimidating.

"Where's Ivan?" he asked, but before any of them could reply, Ivan jogged down the hallway and stopped right in front of them.

"Privet," he said, waving. He didn't even look out of breath.

"Huh?" Jamar asked, cocking his head. "Privet?"

"Greetings, hello, hi," Ivan clarified.

"Ready?" Miguel asked, pushing off from the wall.

"You're doing this here?" Raivis asked. "In front of the cafeteria?"

"Better than out there on the pavement," Miguel replied, shrugging. "At least this floor is smooth. And in case you've forgotten, the gym is occupied for another hour."

Nobody had an argument for that, although Raivis and Félicité remained looking skeptical. The floor was smooth, sure, but it was also _hard_.

"Ready boys?" Lovino asked, smirking a little at the both of them. He had no qualms that Miguel had this in the bag - the guy looked pretty tough, but he was even more steely on the inside. Lovino had seen Miguel beat up three of the Cobras once, all in one go.

Miguel and Ivan assumed their starting positions, then looked to Lovino to signify that they were ready.

"Alright. Go," he said, waving a hand dismissively, and the two boys lunged at each other.

"Weren't you supposed to count down?" Hien asked skeptically.

Lovino fixed him with an unimpressed look.

"Do I look like I give a shit?"

They turned back to see the Russian and the Portuguese grappling with one another, both seemingly at a stalemate.

"Unstoppable force and immovable object, no?" Raivis joked.

"Which is which?" Yao retorted, and the two boys laughed a little.

Miguel's arms were around Ivan's middle, but Ivan wasn't allowing himself to be dragged down.

The hallway was filled with the sounds of their shoes scuffing against the ground and their grunts of exertion. There was a lot of back and forth, and more than once one of them hit the ground with a thud before getting up again quickly so as not to count it as a pin.

The Fobs and Raivis and Natalya watched in interest, occasionally cheering on their respective competitor. The whole ordeal lasted for no more than six minutes, but to them it seemed like ages.

Eventually, Ivan managed to hold Miguel at bay - his left hand against Miguel's right shoulder, and his right hand braced by the left side of Miguel's neck.  He loosened his grip ever so slightly, pushing Miguel's head down with his right hand, and the Portuguese took the opportunity to lunge forward.

This was what Ivan had wanted; he dropped to his knees, one of his arms latching around Miguel's right arm and the other around his right leg, careful to keep his head locked against Miguel's right arm to prevent the other boy from breaking out.

Ivan executed the fireman's carry perfectly, wheeling sideways to heave Miguel over and flip him onto his back, where Ivan quickly arranged him back onto his stomach to lock him in a half-nelson. Neither of them moved.

"Seems like a pin to me," Lovino said, shrugging.

"You're a terrible ref," Miguel teased, voice strained since Ivan's forearm was across the back of his neck.

"Eh," Lovino dismissed, waving a hand. "Russo wins anyways. Congrats."

Ivan released Miguel, standing up triumphantly.

"Ah, fantastika! I don't have any humiliation to never live down!"

"But Miguel does," Hien snickered, and Félicité joined in. Jamar ruffled their hair, shaking his head.

Miguel stood up, brushing himself off. He stood before Ivan, holding out a hand.

"Congratulations, Braginsky," he said warmly. "How would you like to be leader?"

Everyone gawked at that, including Ivan.

"Do you want to run that by me again?" Lovino said, stepping forward with his ear towards Miguel.

"I'm offering Ivan position as leader," Miguel said loudly, turning to his friends. "I accepted the position for Antonio's sake, to honor him, and because I'm next of kin. But it's not what I want, it's not cut out for me. I don't want to be leader, I was always more comfortable on the sidelines."

The Fobs nodded, for they knew this to be true.

"Ivan here already has good qualities about him," Miguel continued. "He took initiative to gather his friend and sister and ask to join a new family, to join our group. He's nice and doesn't want to join purely for the violence of it. Besides, he's clearly physically stronger," he added, learning a laugh from everyone. "I like him. I think he'll be good. What do you say, Braginsky?" This last part was directed back to the boy in question.

Ivan straightened his shirt nervously, glancing around at each of them to gauge their reactions, and was satisfied with what he saw. He beamed.

"Yes, of course! I accept."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> scusa - sorry  
> probabilmente - probably  
> divertiti - have a good time  
> wop - racial slur for anyone of Italian descent, from the term "guappo"  
> birds - girls  
> Dago - slur for a person of Italian descent  
> ragazzi forti - tough guys  
> mio sole - my sun  
> Emma and Alice - hints to aph Belgium and nyo!England  
> buona notte - good night (in a greeting way for this context)  
> ciao a tutti - hi everyone, hi to all, etc  
> Attenzione - attention  
> wog - Australian slur for immigrants, including Italians  
> ragazzo - boy  
> ragazza - girl  
> Hermann - derogatory nickname for a German, based on the German name  
> Goombah - Italian male, especially a thug or "mafioso"  
> Fred Astaire - famous US performer (dancer, singer, actor) from 1899 - 1987, starred in musical movies  
> white émigrés - Russians who emigrated from Russia in the early 20s, but there are different waves of white émigrés; Ivan's and Natalya's parents were second wave  
> sem ofensa - no offense  
> the Red Scare - when Americans were under high alert for anyone suspected to be a communist; reached its height in the 50s with McCarthyism  
> da / да - yes  
> piccolo Bielorussia - little Belarus  
> lieliska mīlestība - were you not paying attention?  
> privet - I guess you really weren't paying attention  
> Russo - Russian  
> fantastika - fantastic


End file.
